mmnnm 


UC-NRLF 


B    3    327    M3S 


Sjjkfi 


« 

i 


Tflfi 


»<i 


* 


i 


^  GOLDEN  CHRISTMAS: 


CHRONICLE  OF  ST.  JOHN'S,  BERKELEY. 


^^  COMFlLKD   PAOM   TB8 

S5  'i. 


'       NOTES  OF  A  BRIEFLESS  BARRISTER, 

"  BT   THE   AUTHOR   OF 

•*T&B  TEMA88BE,'*  "  OUT  RIVERS,"  **  KATHARINE  WALTON,"  BTCi 


;  CHARLESTOKj 

\  WALKER,  RICHARDS  AND  CO 

I  *  1852. 


T  /T 


•'^- 


/^A 


,» 


:«^ 


A . -2  ff-o  ^  :j_3. 


■  .  'I 


I t.i«i 


'    Ent«rad  tooordinf  to  Act  of  ConrrcM,  u>  Um  j—i  ltfS«  by 
W.  OILMORE  SIMMS. 
ta  Um  ClcA't  Oflioo  Of  th»  Dictfiot  Coort  for  the  Diitriot  of  Bonth-CafoUDA^ 


'■■*  OHARtEfitONt 

•TIAIC  POWEH-PRESS  OP  WALXIK  AlfD  iAMBS| 
101.  103  and  106  Uut-fiar. 


>\    *■ 


•ih     '     ■    .   .  'a  C-C 


H5 


[  /  .  4.TEE  GOLDEN  CHRISTMAS. 

J' 

/■•  CHAPTER  I.  ' 

V  A   DOUBTFUL    CASE    OF    LOVE    ON    THE   TAPI8. 

IT  vfCA  during  that  premature  spell  of  cold  weather  which  we  so 
unseasonably  had  this  year  in  October, — anticipating  our  usual 
winter  Vy  a  full  month  or  more, — cutting  off  the  cotton  crop  a 
fourth, land  forcing  us  into  our  winter  garments  long  before  they 
were  ordered  from  the  tailor,- — when,  one  morning,  as  I  stood  shiv- 
ering before  the  glass,  and  clumsily  striving,  with  numbed  fingers, 
to  adjust  my  cravat  d  la  ncBud  Gordien^ — my  friend,  Ned  Bul- 
mer,  burst  into  my  room,  looking  as  perfect  an  exquisite  as  Beau 
Bruramell  himself.  He  was  in  the  gayest  clothes  and  spirits,  a 
thousand  times  more  exhilarated  than  usual — and  Ned  is  one  of 
those  fellows  upon  whom  care  sits  uneasily,  whom,  indeed,  care 
seldom  sets  upon  at  all!  He  laughed  at  my  shiverings  and 
awkwardness,  seized  the  ends  of  my  handkerchief,  and,  with  the 
readiest  fingers  in  the  world,  and  in  the  most  perfect  taste,  adjust- 
ed the  folds  of  the  cravat,  and  looped  them  up  into  a  rose  bene  ath 

^  i       my  chin,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  to  my  own  perfect  satis- 

4:4       faction. 

jj  "  That  done,"  said  he, — "  what  have  you  now  for  breakfast  ?" 

A  bachelor's  breakfast  is  not  uncommonly  an  extempore  per- 
formance. I,  myself,  really  knew  not  what  was  in  the  larder,  or 
what  my  cook  was  about  to  provide.  But  this  ignorance  occa- 
sioned no  difficulty.    I  knew  equally  well  my  guest  and  cook. 

[      116 


4      .  TEH    OOLBEN    OHRISTMASi 


"  There  is  doubtless  quite  enougli  for  two  moderate  fellows  41kd 
ourselves.     Let  ua  descend  to  the  breakfast  room  and  s^^^w^ 


"  I  warn  you,"  said  he,  "  I  am  no  moderate  fello^v  artuist^o 
ment.     I  am  hungry  as  a  Cumanche.     I  was  out  late  last  night  at   i 
the  house  of  that  starched  framework  of  moral  buckram,  the  widow^ 
D  >      0 ;  and  got  no  supper.    Her  freezing  ladyship  seems  to. 
fancy  that  she  pro\'ide8  well  enough  when  she  surfeits  every  body  V 
with  her  own  dignity  ;  and,  though  there  was  a  regular  party, — a  \ 
monstrous  re-union  of  town  and  country  coasins, — yet,  would  you     ^ 
believe  it,  except  the  tea  service  at  eight  o'clock,  cakes  and  crum-       t 
pets,  and  such  like  unsubstantial  stufis,  we  got  not  a  mouthful  all 
the  evening  !     Yet,  in  momentary  expectation  of  i\  every  body 
hung  on  till  twelve  o'clock.   The  case  appearing  then  perfectly  des- 
perate, and  the  stately  hostess  becoming  more  freezingly  dignified 
than  ever,  people  t  :'gaii  to  disappear.     The  old  ladies  lingered  to 
the  last,  and  then  woit  off  breathing  curses,  not  loud  but  deep ! 
Old  Mrs.  F was  terribly  indignant.     I  helped  her  to  the  car- 
riage.    *  Did  you,'  said  she*  ■  *  ever  see  such  meanness  ?     I  wonder 
if  she  thinks  people  come  to  her  parties  only  to  see  her  in  her  last 
Parisian  dresses  ?     And  that    wo  should  stay  till  twelve  o'clock 
and   get  notliing  after  all !     Let  her  invite  me  again,  and  she 
shall  have  an  answer.'     '  Why  what  will  you  say  V  said  L  *  What 
will  I  say  V  said  she.     '  I'll  tell  her  yes,  I'll  come,  pronded  she'll 
allow  me  to  bring  niy  supper  with  me.' 

*  And  she'll  be  very  sure  to  do  it  too,'  said  I :  *  she's  just  the 
woman  for  it.' "  • 

"  I  shall  not  quarrel  with  her  if  she  does,  I  calculated  some- 
thing on  the  supper  myself,  took  no  tea,  and  was  absolutely  fam- 
ished. I  waa  so  hungry  that,  but  for  the  distance,  and  my  weari- 
ness, I  should  have  diiven  down  to  Baker's,  and  surfeited  myself 
upon  Yankee  oysters.  You  sea  now  why  I  am  so  soUcitous  on 
the  subject  of  the  sort  of  breakfast  you  can  provide." 

"  Faith,  Ned,"  said  I,  "  one  might  reasonably  ask,  why,  being 


I 


A   DOtJBTrUL   CASE    OF    LOVE    ON   THE   TAPIS. 


80  monstrous  hiing^,  you  should  yet  sally  forth  on  an  empty 
stomach  !  Why  didn't  you  get  breakfast  at  home  ?  Why  come 
to  sponge  upon  a  needy  bachelor,  and  without  due  warning  given 
of  the  savage  character  of  your  appetite  ?" 

"  Oh !  you  penurious  monster !     You  are  as  stingy  as  Madame 

D e.     But,  confound  you !     Do  you  think  it  is  your  break- 

fiist,  in  particular,  that  I  am  in  search  of  ?  Let  me  quiet  your  sus- 
picions. Hungry  as  I  am,  I  have  a  much  more  important  quest 
in  seeking  you,  and  came  as  soon  as  I  could,  in  order  to  catch  you 
before  you  should  go  out  this  morning.  I  slept  so  late,  that, 
when  I  sprang  out  of  my  bed  and  looked  at  my  watch,  I  found  I 
hadn't  a  moment  to  lose.  So  I  took  the  chance  of  securing  you 
and  my  breakfast  by  the  same  operation.  Thus  am  I  here  and 
hungry.     Are  you  satisfied  ?" 

"  Quite !     But  what's  in  the  wind  now,  that  you  must  see  me 
in  such  a  hurry.     No  quarrel  on  hand,  I  trust." 

"  No !  no !     Thank  God  I     It  is  Venus  not  Mars,  at  this  season 
of  the  year,  to  whom  I  address  my  prayers.     It  is  an  affair  of  the 
heart,  not  of  pistols.     But  to  the  point.     Have  you  any  engage- 
ments  to-day  ?     I  am  in  need  of  you." 
\  "  None !"  with  the  natural  sigh  of  a  young  lawyer,  whose  de- 

i       sires  are  more  numerous  than  his  clients,  and  whose  hopes  are 
]       always  more  magnificent  than  his  fees. 

"  Good  I    Then  you  must  serve  me,  as  you  can,  efficiently,  i 
%       You  alone  can  do  it.     You  must  know,  then,  that  Paula  Bonneau 
I      is  in  town  with  her  grandmother.     They  came  yesterday,  and  may 
{^      leave  to-morrow.    They  are  hurried ;  I  don't  know  why.    I  heard 

'%      of  them  last  night  at  Dame  D e*s.    Thpy  would  have  been . 

,1      present,  and  were  at  first  expected ;  but  sent  an  excuse  on  the  plea 
|«      of  fatigue." 
i         "  And  did  not  accordingly — we  may  suppose — go  supperless  to 
bed.    But  what  have  I  to  do  in  this  matter  ?    *  What's  Hecuba  to 


m 


6  TBS    QOlDEN   OHRISTMAB.  ^^ 


me,  or  I  to  Hecuba  ?*    You  surely  don't  design  that  I  should  take 
Paula  oflf  your  hands." 
^  "  Oflf  my  hands,  indeed.     No !  no !  mon  ami  /    I  wish  you 

rather  to  assist  in  putting  her  into  them."  '^♦' 

"  Humph !  not  so  easy  a  matter.  But  how  did  you  hear  of 
their  movements  and  arrangements  ?" 

"  From  Monimia  Porcher !  The  dear  little  creature  gave  me  a 
world  of  news  last  night,  and  promises  me  every  assistance.  But 
she  is  not  a  favoui-it*^  with  our  grandmother,  as  you  know,  and  con- 
sequently can  render  me,  directly^  no  great  assistance.  But  you 
can." 

"  Prithee,  how  ?" 

"  I  have  sent  word  to  Paula  by  Monimia  that  I  will  call  upon 
her  at  ten.  I  know  that  she  and  the  old  lady  are  to  go  out  shop- 
ping at  eleven.  Now,  you  will  call  ^vith  me.  You  are  a  favourite 
with  the  grandmother,  and  you  are  to  keep  her  off.  I  want  to  get 
every  possible  opportunity ;  for  I  am  now  determined  to  p\mh  the 
affair  to  extremities.  I  won't  take  it  as  I  have  done.  I  shall 
•  bring  all  parties  to  terms  this  season,  or  keep  no  terms  with  them 
hereafter." 

"  What  I  You  persist,  knowing  all  your  father's  anti-Gallican 
opinions — his  prejudices,  inherited  for  a  hundred  years !" 

"  In  spite  of  all !  His  prejudices  are  only  inherited.  They 
must  be  overcorao !  They  are  surely  nonsensical  enough.  He 
has  no  right  to  indulge  them  at  the  expense  of  my  happiness." 

"  To  which  you  really  think  Paula  necessary  ?" 

"  Can  you  doubt !  I  am  a  rough  dog,  you  know ;  but  I  have 
a  heart,  Dick,  as  you  also  know ;  and  I  doubt  if  I  could  ever  feel 
such  a  passion  for  any  other  woman  as  I  feel  for  Paula." 

"  She  is  certainly  a  rare  and  lovely  creature.    I  am  half  inclined 
to  take  her  myself." 
*•  "  Don't  think  of  it,  you  Turk  !     Content  yourself  with  dream- 

ing of  Beatrice  Mazyck.     I'll  help  you  in  that  quarter,  mon  ami^ 


▲  DOUBTFUL  CA8B  OF  LOVE  ON  THE  TAPIS. 


and  so  will  Paula.  And  she  can  1  They  are  bosom  friends,  you 
know." 

"  But,  Ned,  her  grandmother  is  quite  m  hostile  to  the  English 
Bulmer  tribe,  as  your  father  is  to  the  Uuguenot  Bonneaus.  You 
have  a  double  prejudice  to  overcome." 

"  Not  so  !  It  is  the  old  lady's  pride  only,  that,  piqued  at  the 
openly  avowed  prejudices  of  my  family,  asserts  its  dignity  by  op- 
position. Let  my  father  once  bo  persuaded  to  relax,  and  we  shall 
thaw  the  old  lady.  She  is  devotedly  attached  to  Paula,  and,  I 
believe,  she  thinks  well  enough  of  me ;  and  would  have  no  sort  of 
objection,  but  for  the  old  antipathy  to  my  name." 

"  You  are  so  sanguine  ! — Well  1  I'm  ready  to  help  as  you  re- 
quire.    What  is  the  programme." 

"  You  must  secure  me  opportunities  for  a  long  talk  with  Paula 
alone.  You  must  keep  off  the  dragon.  I  am  prepared  to  brave 
every  thing — all  my  father's  prejudices — and  will  do  so,  if  I  can 
only  persuade  her  to  make  some  corresponding  sacrifice  for  me.  I 
am  now  tolerably  independent.  In  January,  my  mother's  prop- 
erty comes  into  my  hands  ;  and,  though  it  does  not  make  mo 
rich,  it  enables  me  to  snap  my  fingers  in  the  face  of  fate  !  I  am 
resolved  to  incur  every  risk,  at  all  events.  Paula,  too,  is  a  fear- 
less little  creature ;  and,  though  wonderfully  submissive  to  the 
whims  of  her  grandmother,  I  feel  sure  that  she  will  not  sacrifice 
herself  and  me  to  them  in  a  matter  so  essential  to  our  mutual 
happiness.  Things  are  looking  rather  more  favourable  than  usual. 
There  have  been  occasional  meetings  of  the  two  families.  The 
old  lady  and  my  father  even  had  a  civil  conversation  at  the  last 
tournament ;  and  ho  has  resolved  upon  a  sort  of  feudal  entertain- 
ment, this  Christmas,  which  shall  bring  together  the  whole  neigh- 
bourhood,— at  least  for  a  day  or  two.  You  are  to  be  there  :  so  he 
requires  me  to  say,  and  his  guest,  of  course,  while  in  the  parish* 
You  must  do  your  endeavour  for  me  while  there.    It  will  not  be 


pf-" 


8  *  TH»  OOLDEK   OHBIBtMAS. 


my  fault,  if  the  season  shall  pass  without  being  properly  improved. 
Love  has  made  me  somewhat  desperate." 

"  Beware,  lest  your  rashness  should  lose  you  all.     Your  father's 
prejudices  are  inveterate." 

"  I  think  not.    They  begin  to  soften.     He  begins  to  feel  that 
he  is  getting  older,  and  he  becomes  more  amiable  accordingly. 
He  talks  old  prejudices  rather  than  feels  chem.     It  is  a  habit  with 
him  now,  rather  than  a  feeling.     He  barks,  like  the  old  dog,  but 
the  teeth  are  no  longer  in  capacity  to  bite.     For  that  matter,  his 
bark  was  always  worse  than  his  bite.     What  he  says  of  the  Hu- 
guenots is  only  what  his  grandfather  said  and  thought.     Without 
the  same  animosity,  he  deems  it  a  sort  of  family  duty,  to  maintain 
the  old  British  bull-dog  attitude,  as  if  to  show  that  his  blood  has 
undergone  no  deterioration.     In  respect  to  Paula,  herself,  he  said, ' 
at  the  last  tournament,  that  she  was  really  a  lovely  little  creature, 
and  regretted  that  she  was  of  that  soup  maujre  French  stock. 
There  are  sundry  other  httle  favourable  symptoms  which  seem  to 
show  me  that  he  is  growing  reasonable  and  indulgent." 

Here,  we  were  signalled  to  breakfast,  and  our  dialogue,  on  this 
subject,  was  suspended  for  awhile. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  bachelor's  bueakfa&t. 


It  is  not  often  that  our  fair  readers  aie  admitted  to  the  myste- 
rious domain  which  eiitertain  i  a  bachelor  as  its  sovereign.  They 
fancy,  the  dear  conceited  httle  creatures,  that  such  a  province  is  a 
very  desolate  one.  They  delude  themselves  with  the  v>un  notion 
that,  without  the  presence  of  some  one  or  more  of  their  mischie- 
vously precious  sex,  a  house,  or  garden,  is  scarcely  habitable  ;  and 
that  man,  in  such  an  abode,  is  perpetually  sighing  for  some  such 


A  bachelor's  breakfast.  9 


change  as  the  tender  sex  only  can  impart.  They  look  upon,  as 
,  quite  orthodox,  the  language  of  Mr.  Thomas  Campbell,  who  sings — 
j  *•  The  fjardcn  vtm  a  mild, 

I  And  man,  the  hermit,  eigh'd,  till  woman  ftmilcdP 

But  this  is  all  vanity  and  delusion.  We  no  where  have  any  testi- 
mony that  the  condition  of  Adam  was  thup  disconsolate,  before 
Eve  was  stolen  from  his  side,  in  order  that  she  should  steal  to  his 
side.  This  is  all  a  mistake.  x\dam  did  very  well  as  a  gardener, 
and  quite  as  well  as  a  houseke(?per,  long  before  Eve  was  assigned 
'■  him  as  a  helpmate,  and  was  very  comfortable  in  his  sovereignty 
alone.  We  know  what  evil  consequences  liapponed  to  his  house- 
keeping after  she  came  into  it,  and  what  sort  of  coimsellors  she 
entertained.  Let  it  not,  therefore,  be  supposed  that  we  bachelors 
can  not  contrive  to  get  on,  with  our  affairs  exclusively  under  our 
ovm  management.  I  grant  that  there  is  a  difference ;  but  the 
question  occurs,  *  Is  this  difference  for  the  worse  in  our  case  V 
Hardly  1  There  is,  confessedly,  no  such  constant  putting  to  rights, 
as  we  always  find  going  on  in  the  households  of  married  men. 
But  that  is  because  there  is  no  such  need  of  putting  to  rights. 
There  is  pre^^ously  no  such  putting  to  wrongs,  in  such  a  house- 
hold. There,  every  thing  goes  on  like  clockwork.  There  is  less 
parade,  T  grant  you ;  but  there's  no  such  fuss !  Less  neatness ; 
but  no  jarrings  with  the  servants.  To  the  uninitiated  eye,  things 
appear  in  exemplary  confusion;  but  the  solitary  head  of  the 
household  caii  extract  order  from  this  confusion  at  any  moment. 
It  is  a  maze,  but  not  without  a  plan.  You  will  chafe,  because 
there  is  a  want  of  neatness ;  but  then  our  bachelor  has  quiet.  Ah  I 
but  you  say,  how  lonesome  it  looks  1  But  the  answer  is  ready. 
The  bachelor  is'  not,  nevertheless,  the  inhabitant  of  a  solitude. 
His  domain  is  peopled  with  pleasant  thoughts  and  sweet  visitors, 
and,  if  he  be  a  student,  with  sublime  ones.  He  converses  with 
great  minds,  unembarrassed  by  the  voices  of  little  ones.  He 
communes  with  master  spirits  in  antique  books.     These  counsel 


¥• 


10  THE    GOLDEN    CHRISTMAS, 


-9 


aud  teach  him,  without  ever  disputing  what  he  says  and  thinks. 
They  fill,  and  instruct  his  soul,  without  vexing  his  self-esteem. 
They  bring  music  to  his  chamber,  without  troubling  his  ears  with 
noise.  But,  you  say,  he  has  none  of  the  pleasures  which  spring 
from  his  communion  with  children.  You  say  that  the  association 
with  the  young  keeps  the  heart  young ;  and  you  say  rightly.  But 
the  bachelor  answers  and  says — if  he  has  no  children  of  his  own, 
he  sees  enough  of  his  neighbours.  They  climb  his  fences,  pilfer 
his  peaches,  pelt  liis  dog,  and,  as  Easter  approaches,  break  into  his 
fowl-yards  and  carry  off  his  fresh  eggs.  Why  should  he  seek  for 
children  of  his  own,  when  his  neighbours*  houses  are  so  prolific  ? 
He  could  give  you  a  long  discourse,  in  respect  to  the  advantages 
of  single  blessedness, — that  is,  in  the  case  of  the  man.  In  that  of 
the  woman,  the  affair  is  more  difficult  and  doubtful.  lie  is  not 
prepared  to  deny  that  she  ought  to  get  married  whenever  she  can 
find  the  proper  victim.  To  sum  up,  in  brief,  he  goes  and  comes 
when  he  pleases,  without  drejiding  a  feminine  authority.  He 
takes  his  breakfast  at  his  o^vn  hours,  and  dines  when  in  the  hu- 
mour, and  takes  his  ease  at  his  inn.  His  sleep  is  undisturbed  by 
unpleasant  fancies.  He  is  never  required  to  rise  at  night,  no  mat- 
ter how  cold  the  weather,  to  see  that  the  children  are  covered,  or 
to  warm  the  baby^s  posset.  Never  starts  with  horror,  and  a  chil- 
ling shiver^  at  every  scream,  lest  Young  Hopeful,  the  boy,  or 
Young  Beauty,  the  girl,  has  tumbled  dov/n  stairs,  bruizing  nose, 
or  breaking  leg  or  arm ;  and,  if  he  stays  out  late  o'nights,  never 
sneaks  home,  with  immanly  terrors,  dreading  to  hear  no  good  of 
himself  when  he  gets  there.  At  night,  purring,  in  grateful  reve- 
rie, by  his  fireside,  he  makes  pictiu-es  in  his  ignited  coals,  which 
exhilarate  his  fancy.  His  cat  sleeps  on  the  hearth  rug,  confident 
of  her  master,  and  never  dreading  the  broomstick  of  the  always 
officious  chambermaid ;  and  the  ancient  woman  who  makes  up  his 
bed,  and  prepares  his  breakfiist,  appears  before  him  like  one  of 


A  bachelor's  breakfast.  11 


ihose  deeming^  old  hags  of  the  fairy  tale  who  turn  out  to  be 
princesses  and  good  spirits  in  homely  disguise." 

"  See  now,"  said  I  to  Ned  Bulraer,  as  Tabitha  the  cook  brought 
in  the  breakfa.st  things.  "  See  now,  the  instance.  Tabitha  is  not 
comely.  Far  from  it.  Tabitha  never  was  comely,  even  in  the 
dap  of  her  youth.  Her  nose  is  decidedly  African,  prononc^  aflef 
the  very  worst  models.  Her  mouth,  a  spacious  aperture  at  first, 
has  so  constantly  worked  upon  its  hinges  for  fifty-six  years,  that 
the  lips  have  lost  their  elasncity,  and  the  valves  remain  apart,  open 
in  all  weathers.  Her  entire  face  is  of  this  fashion.  She  looks  like 
one  of  the  ugly  men-women,  black  and  bearded,  such  as  they 
collect  on  the  heath,  amidst  thunder  and  lightning,  for  the  en- 
counter with  Macbeth.  Yet,  at  a  word,  Tabitha  will  imcover  the 
dishes,  and  enable  us,  like  the  old  lady  in  the  fairy  legend,  to  fill 
our  mouths  with  good  things.  Such  is  the  bachelor's  fairy.  Take 
my  word  for  it,  Ned,  there's  no  life  like  that  of  a  bachelor.  Con- 
tinue one,  if  you  are  wise.  Paula  Bonneau  is,  no  doubt,  a  de- 
hghtful  little  picture  of  mortality  and  mischief.  But  so  was  Pan* 
dora.  She  ha.s  beauty,  and  sweetness,  and  many  virtues,  but  she 
will  fill  the  house  with  cares,  every  one  of  which  has  a  fearful 
faculty  of  reduplication.  Be  a  bachelor  as  long  as  you  can,  and 
when  the  inevitable  fate  wills  it  otherwise,  provide  yourself  with 
all  facihties  for  dying  decently.     Coffee,  Tabitha." 

Such  was  the  rambling  exordium  which  I  delivered  to  my 
friend,  rather  with  the  >iew  of  discouraging  his  anticipations  than 
because  I  really  entertained  any  such  opinions.  He  answered  me 
in  a  huff. 

"  Pshaw !  what  nonsense  is  all  this  1  Don't  I  know  that  if  you 
could  get  Beatrice  Mazyck  to-morrow,  you'd  change  your  blessed 
bachelorhood  into  the  much  abused  wedlock." 

"  Fate  may  do  much  worse  things  for  me,  Ned,  I  grant  you.** 
I       **  It  is  some  grace  in  you  to  admit  even  so  little.     But  don't 
I  you  speak  again,  even  in  sport,  so  disrespectfully  of  the  marriage 


\i  T^B    dOLDEl^    OiiEtST^iil* 


condition.  Don't  I  know  the  cheerleasneas  of  yoUrs.  Talk  at 
your  books  and  ancient  philosophers  I  don't  I  know  that  you  are 
frequently  in  the  mood  to  throw  them  into  the  fire;  and,, even 
"while  you  sit  over  it,  the  reveries  which  you  find  so  delicious,  are 
those  which  picture  to  you  another  form,  of  the  other  gender,  sit- 
ting opposite  you,  with  eyes  smiling  in  your  own,  and  sweet 
lips  responding  at  intervals  to  all  the  fondest  protestations  which 
you  can  utter.  Tabitha,  indeed !  I  verily  believe  the  old  crea- 
ture, though  faithful  and  devoted  to  you,  grows  sometimes  hateful 
in  your  eyes,  as  reminding  you  of  hor  sex  in  the  most  disagreeable 
manner ; — -a  manner  quite  in  discord  to  such  fancies  as  your  own 
thoughts  have  conjured  up.  Isn't  it  so,  Tabitha  ?  Isn't  Ned 
sometimes  monstrous  cross,  and  sulky  to  you,  only  because  you 
haven't  some  young  mistress,  Tabitha  f ' 

"  I  'spec  so.  Mass  Ned :  he  sometime  mos'  sick  'cause  he  so 
lonesome  y3r.  I  tell  um  so.  I  say,  wha'  for,  Mass  Dick,  you  no  get 
you'se'f  young  wife  for  make  your  house  comfortable,  an  i  keep 
you  company  yer,  in  dis  cold  winter's  a'coming.  I  'spec  its  only 
'cause  he  can't  git  de  pusson  he  want." 

"  True,  every  word  of  it,  Tab  1  But  never  you  mind.  You'll 
be  surprised  some  day  with  another  sort  of  person  overlooking 
your  housekeeping.  What  do  you  think,  Tabitha,  of  Miss  Bea- 
trice Mazyck." 

"Hush,  Ned!" 

"  She's  a  mighty  fine  young  pusson,  and  a  purty  one  too.  1 
don't  tink  I  hab  any  'jection  to  Miss  Beatrice." 

"  Very  well !  You're  an  accommodating  old  lady.  She'll  be 
the  one,  be  sure  of  it.  So  keep  the  house  in  order.  You'll  be 
taken  by  surprise.  Then  we  shall  see  very  ditlerent  arrangementa 
in  the  housekeeping  hero,  Tabby.  Do  you  8iipix)se  that  she'd  let 
Dick  lie  abed  till  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  sit  up,  smoking 
and  drinking,  till  midnight  ?"  ^^j 

"  Nebber,  in  dis  world,  Mass  Ned."  ?. 


i 


A*SACHELOR^S    BREAKJ-ABT*  13 


"  And,  if  the  power  is  with  her,  never  in  the  next,  Tabitha. 
Then,  do  yoii  think  she'd  sufier  a  pack  of  fellows  to  be  singing 
through  the  house  at  all  hours — and  such   singinpr,  and  such 


?ongs." 


"  Nebter  guine  le'  umcome,  Mass  Ned.  Him  no  guine  'courage 

dis  racket  jer  at  all  hours.     I  tell  you  for  true,  Mass  Ned,  dis 

house,  sometime,  aint  'spectable  for  people  to  lib  in.     You  no 

know  what  de  young  gentlcmens  do  here  at  night,  keeping  me  up 

or  make  coffee  for  urn,  sometime  mos'  tell  to-morrow  morning." 

"  It's  perfectly  shocking,  Tabitha.     She'll  never  suffer  it." 

"Nebber,  Mass  Ned." 

"Then,  Tabby,  do  you  think  she'd  let  these  tables  and  chairs 
)^  so  dusty,  that  a  gentleman  can't  sit  in  them  without  cover- 
ing his  garments  with  dust  as  from  a  meal  bag." 

"  Sure,  Mass  Ned,  I  brush  off  de  tables  and  chairs  ebbry  morn- 
ing." And,  saying  this,  the  old  woman  began  wiping  off  chairs 
rind  tables  with  her  apron. 

"  But  she'll  see  it  done  after  a  different  fashion,  Tabitha.  She^ll 
have  you  up  at  cock  crow,  old  lady,  putting  the  house  to  rights." 

"  Ilem !  I  'spec  she  will  hab  for  git  young  sarbant  den,  for  you  ^^ 

see  Mass  Ned,  dese  old  bones  have  de  rheumatiz  in  dem." 
)  "Not  a  bit  of  it,  old  lady.  A  young  wife  has  no  pity  on  old 
l>ones.  She'll  make  you  stir  your  stumps,  if  you  never  did  before. 
She  will  never  part  with  you,  Tabitha.  She  knows  your  value. 
She  knows  how  Dick  values  you.  She  i^ill  have  no  other  8e^^'ant 
than  you.  You'll  have  to  do  everything,  Tabby,  even  to  nursing 
the  children.  And,  between  you  and  her,  the  old  house  will  grow 
young  again.  It  will  make  you  happy,  I'm,  sure,  to  see  it  full  of 
young  people,  and  plenty  of  company,  looking  quite  smart  always ; 
always  full  of  bustle  and  pleasure  ;  every  body  busy ;  none  idle ; 
not  a  moment  of  time,  so  that,  when  you  he  down  at  midnight, 
to  rouse  up  at  daylight,  you'll  sleep  as  sound  as  if  you  were  in 
heaven.*' 


> 


14  tun   GOLDEN   CHRISTMAS. 


"I  don't  tink,  Mas8  Ned,  I  kin  stan'  sich  life  as  dat    De  fac' 
is,  Mass  Dick  is  berry  comfortable  jist  now,  as  he  stan*.     He  aiot 
got  no  trouble.    He  know  me,  and  I  knows  him.     I  <k>n*t  se 
wha*  for  he  want  to  get  wife.     I  nebber  yer  him  say  he's  oncom 
ortable." 

"Hal  ha  I  hal  The  tune  rather  changes,  Tabitha.  But  thi 
house,  as  it  is,  is  quite  too  dull  for  both  you  and  your  master 
When  Beatrice  Mazyck  comes  home,  you'll  have  music.  She  wil 
waken  up  the  day  with  song,  like  a  bird.  She  will  put  the  day  iq 
sleep  with  song.  You'll  have  fine  times.  Tabby— music,  and 
dancing,  and  Hfe  and  play." 

"Wha's  people  guine  do  for  sleep^  Mass  Ned,  all  dis  time. 
People  must  hab  sleep." 

The  old  woman  spoke  this  sharply.  Ned  laughed  gaily,  beck- 
oned for  another  cup  of  coffee,  and  the  ancient  housekeeper  wru 
for  the  moment  dismissed. 

"  You  have  effectually  cured  her  of  any  desire  for  a  mistress,^ 
said  I.  i 

"  See  how  opinion  changes,"  quoth  Ned, — "  yet  Tabitha  is  no 
bad  sample  of  the  world  at  large,  white  and  black.  Our  opinion'* 
shape  themselves  wonderfully  to  suit  our  selfishness. — Dick,  pa'V' 
me  those  waffles." 

I  suppose  there  is  hardly  any  need  to  describe  a  bachelor'^ 
breakfast.  Ours  was  not  a  bad  one.  Cofiee  and  waffles,  sardine 
and  boiled  eggs, — to  say  nothing  of  a  bottle  of  Sauterne,  to  which 
I  confined  myself,  eschewing  coffee  in  autumn — these  were  tlii 
chief  commodities.  The  table,  I  must  do  Tabitha  the  justice  to 
declare,  was  well  spread,  with  a  perfeatly  white  cloth,  and  the 
edibles  served  up,  well  cooked  and  with  a  clean  and  neat  Arrange- 
ment. Edward  Bulmer  soon  satisfied  his  wolfish  ap})etite,  and. 
when  the  things  were  removed,  it  was  after  nine  o'clock.  Hii 
buggy  was  already  at  the  door.  AVe  adjusted  ourselves,  and  hav- 
ing an  hour  to  consume,  went  over  all  the  afiiiirs  c^  the  parish,  of 


KINQ-6TREET   SHOPPING,    AND    SHARP    SHOOTING.  15 


•vhich  he  had  recently  informed  himself.     Now,  as  every  body 

knows,.  St.  John's  is  one  of  the  most  polished,  hospitable,  and  in- 

.^lligeuft  of  all  the  parishes  in  the  low  country  of  South-Carolina  ; 

md  the  subject,  to  one  like  myself  who  knew  it  well,  and  who  had 

not  been  thither  for  a  long  time,  was  a  very  attractive  one.     On 

Xed's  account,  also,  I  was  desirous  of  being  well  informed  in  all 

particulars,  that  none  of  the  proper  clues  might  be  wanting  to  my 

hands,  while  conversing  with   PauLa's   granddame.     The   hour 

passed  rapidly,  conning  these  and  other  matters,  and  ten  o'ck-ck 

found  us  punctually  at  the  entrance  of  the  Mansion  House.     Our 

cards  were  sent  in,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  we  were  in  the  parlour 

of  that  establishment,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  fair  Paula,  and 

her  stately,  but  excellent  granddame,  Mrs. ,  or,  considering 

the  race,  I  should  probably  say,  Madame  Agnes-Theresa  Girardin. 

1 


CHAPTER  III. 


}  KINO'STREET  SHOPPING,  AND  SHARP  SHOOTING. 

\     Paula  Bonneau  was  as  lovely  a  little  brunette  as  the  eye  ever 
rested  upon  twth  satisfaction.     Her  cheek  glowed  with  the  warm 
fires  of  Southc*^  youth  ;  her  eye  flashed  like  our  joyous  sunlight ; 
her  mouth  infj)ired  just  the  sort  of  emotion  wliich  one  feels  at 
seeing  a  new  and  most  delicioas  fruit  imploring  one  to  feed  and 
'  be  happy ;  while  her  brow,  full  and  lofty,  and  contrasting  with 
*  voluminous  masses  of  raven  hair,  indicated  a  noble  and  intellec- 
tual na?tu*e,  which  the  general  expression  of  her  face  did  not  con- 
\  tt^^ict.*'  That  was  a  perfect  oval,  and  of  the  most  perfect  sym- 
,  metiy.    'Tlie  nose,  by  the  way,  was  aquiline,  a  somewhat  curious 
featurg  ip  such  a  development,  but  perfectly  consistent  with  the 
■  bright  eagle-dfcting  glances  of  her  eye.    Paula  'pras,  indeed,  a 

i      ■ 


16  -  TBI   GOLDEN   CHRISTMAS. 


/ 


beauty,  but  I  frankly  confess  quite  too  petite  for  my  taste.    Stitl' 
could  admire  her,  as  a  beautiful  study, — nay,  knowing  the  afr\ 
ble  and  superior  traits  of  her  heart'and  character,  I  could  fove'f 
little  creature  also.     She  was,  in  truth,  a  most  loveable  lii 
being,  and,  though  she  did  not  inspire  me  with  any  ardent  attac. 
ment — perhaps,  for  the  sufficient  reason  that  I  had  fixed  i^} 
glances  on  another  object — still,  I  felt  no  surprise  at  the  passioij 
with  which  she  stirred  the  Wood  in  the  bosom  of  my  friend. 

The  contrast  between  herself^  and  her  stately  grand-dame,  was 
prodigious.     One  could  hardly  suppose  that  the  two  owed  their 
origin  to  a  similar  stock.     Madame  Girardin  wa.s  tall  beyond  tho 
orainary  standards  of  woman,  and  very  disproportionately  slender 
for  her  height.     She  was  one  of  those  gaunt  and  ghostly-looking 
personages,  who  compel  you  to  think  of  fierce  birds  of  prey,  such 
as  haunt  the  shores  of  unknoNVTi  rivers  or  oceans,  with  enormous 
long  limbs,  long  beaks,  red  heads,  and  iK>ssibly  yellow  legs.     Her 
nose  was  long  like  her  limbs,  and  tapered  down  to  a  point  like  a 
spear  head.     Iler  lips  were  thin  and  compressed.     She  could  not  ; 
well  be  said  to  show  her  teeth,  whatever  mijjht  bo  the  fierceness  ; 
of  her  looks  in  general.     Her  eyes  were  keen  and  black,  her  eye 
browH  tliifU,  fmv.y  mul  pn-tty  wi'll  grl/./Uul,  wbilo  lu«r  lockn  wcro 
long,  thin,  grizzled   also,  and  permitted  rather  snakily   to  hang 
about  her  temples.     The  dear  old  grandmother  was  decidedly  no 
beauty ;  but  she  was  noble  of  spirit,  high-toned,  and  of  that  ster- 
ling virtue  and  stern  chanicter,  which  constituted  so  large  a  por- ' 
tion  of  our  fonialo  capital  in  preceding  gMicrations.     She  had  lior 
faults,  no  doubt,  but  she  was  a  brave-souled,  and  generous  wo- 
man.    Uer  great  weakness  was  her  family  pride — vanity,  j^rhaps, ; 
we  should  call  it — which  made  her  overrate  the  claims  of  her  own 
stock,  and  correspondingly  disj)nrage  those  of  most  othe%  hou^e-  . 
holds.     Like  many  other  good  jieojile,  who  have  otherwise  very  ' 
good  common  bcuso,  she  really  pei*Huaded  herself  that  there  wil>^ 
Bomo  secret  virtue  in  her  blood  that  made  her  very  unlike,  and 

i 


■W* 


[HO 


Kixb-STREET   BHOPPINO,    AND    BHARP    BHOOTINO,  17 


i  v«^  superior  to  other  people.     Like  the  Hidalgo?,  she  set  a  pi;T)-  '^. 
;  digious  value  upon  the  genuine  blue  blood — perhaps,  she  even 
'  esteemed  hers  as  of  a  supenor  verdigris  complexion,  the  result  of  . 
^  continued  strainings   and  siftings,  through  the  sixty  millions  of 
generations  from  Adam.     Had  she  been  queried  on  this  subject, 
■  perhaps  she  might  have  admitted  a  belief  that  certain  angels  had 
l>een  specially  designated,  at  the  general  dispersion  of  the  human 
family,  at  some  early  }>eriod,  to  tak^  charge  of  the  Girardins,  and 
to  see,  whenever  the  sons  and  daughters  were  to  be  wived  and 
husband^h  that  none  but  a  bond,  fidt  first  cousin  should  be  found 
-  to  meet  the  wants  of  the  parties  to  be  provided.     Enough  of  this. 
^It  was  her  weakness — a  little  too  frequent  in  our  countr}^,  where 
/^society  is  required  of  itself  to  est*ablish  distinctions  of  casie^  such 
I  ^  the  laws  do  not  recognize,  and  such  as  elsewliere  depend  upon 
I  Uhe  requisitions  of  a  court.     Tlie  weaknesses  of  ^fadame  Girardin, 
I  (is  I  have  already  said,  did  not  prevent  her  from  being  a  very 
I  worthy  old  lady, — i.  e.,  so  long  as  you  forebore  treading  upon  the 
toes  of  her  genealogy. 

Knowing  her  weaknesses,  and  forbearing,  if  not  respecting 
them,  I  was  something  of  a  favourite  with  the  old  lady,  who  re- 
ceived me  very  cordially.  Such  also  was  my  reception  at  the 
\  hands  pf  the  young  one,— ^possibly,  because  she  knew  the  part 
f  *that  I  was  Hkely  to  take  in  promoting  the  affaire  de  coeur  between 
herself  and  my  friend.  But  I  should  not  impute  this  selfishness 
to  her.  Paula  was  a  frank,  gentle  creature,  who  had  no  affecta- 
tions— no  pretensions — and  was  just  as  sincere  and  generous  as 
inopulsive  and  unaffected.  We  had  been  friends  from  childhood — 
\\x  childhood  at  least — had  played  a  thousand  times  together  in 
thie  parish,  and  I  had  no  reason  to  doubt  the  feehng  of  cordiaUty 
ich  she  exhibited  when  we  met.  ^fy  social  position  wa«^not 
\^  as  to  outrage  the  self-esteem  of  either.  The  Coopers  pf  tho 
lalfch — an  EngUsh  cross  upon  a  Huguenot  stock, — seem  not  to 
inherited  any  prejudices  of  race  from  either  the  English  or 
2* 


■•♦      » 


THI   OOLD^If   OHnilTMAl.  ^ 


.v.-^^^ 


* 


.  rencli  side  of  the  house.  We  had  consequently  provoked  none  • 
of  the  enmities  of  either.  In  the  ca^e  of  our  family,  the  amalgam 
of  the  two  had  been  complete,  and  we  occupied  a  sort  of  neutral 
place  between  them,  sharing  the  fnendnhip,  in  equal  degree,  of 
-<.iW>*  ^Q  descendants  of  both.  Hence,  I  waw,  perhaps,  an  equal  favour- 
ite of  old  Major  Bulmer,  Ned's  father,  and  of  Madame  Agnes- 
Theresa,  Paula's  grandmother.  [ 

But,  to  our  progress.     Of  course,  I  took  special  care  of  the 
r     grandmother  during  our  morning  call.     By  the  most  watchful 
and — hIuiU  I  say — judicious  solicitudo— I  kept  her  busily  ongnged 
on  such  parish  topics  as  I  knew  to  be  most  grateful  to  her  pride 
and  prejudices.     I  got  her  so  deeply  immersed  in  these  matters 
that  she  entirely  forget  her  duenna  watchfulness  over  the  two 
other  persons  in  the  apartment.     Of  course,  I  took  care  not  to 
look  t<iwar<lH  iluMn,  iw  tlioy  Kut  togctlif^r  nonr  the  piano,  nt  ilw 
opposite  side  of  the  parlour,  lest  1  bIiouUI  divert  the  eyes  of  the 
grandmother  in  the  same  direction.     And  ihus  we  chatted,  Ned  . 
making  all  possible  amount  of  hay  during  the  spell  of  sunshine  t 
which  ho  enjoyed,  and  I'uula  tacitly  aHHiMting  bin)  ))y  never  show-  pi^ 
ing  any  cloudu  Imiwolf.     Tiuui  flcnv  apaco,  and  wo  had  con>»uine(l     - 
nearly  an  hour,  when  the  old  lady  suddenly  looked  at  her  watch, 
and  exclaimed — 

"  Why,  Paula,  child,  it  is  almost  eleven.  What  have  you  been 
talking  about  all  this  time  ?"  / 

Tlio  good  grandmother,  liko  most  other  old  ladies,  never  dreamt     ] 
that  she  herself  had  been  doing  any  talking  at  all.     Paula  im-       j 
mediately  stai-ted,  like  a  guilty  little  thing,  and  exclaimed  art-'     / 
lessly —  / 

"  Dear  me,  mamma,  can  it  bo  possible."  'j 

"  Possible,  indeed  1"  responded  the  grandmother  rather  sharply. 
*' You  young  people  seem  never  to  think  how  time  flies.  But  get 
your  bonnet,  child.     Mine  is  here."  4    ; 

The  maiden  disappeared  for  a  few  moments,  glad  to  do  so,  for.     * 

r. 


a 


f 


i 


) 


KING-STREET    SHOPPING,    AND    SHARP    SHOOTING.  19 


her  cheeks  betrayed  a  decided  incrctose  of  the  rich  sufTusion  which 
owes  its  fountains  to  the  excited  heart.  While  she  was  gone,  Ned 
was  most  profoundly  coiirteous  to  the  ancient  lady,  and  she  most 
courteously  cold.  "When  Paula  came  back,  I  asked  of  Madame 
Agnes-Theresa —  ^\^. 

"  Do  you  walk,  ^ladame  Girardin." 

"  Yes  ;  we  have  not  far  to  go,  only  into  King-street,  where  we 
have  some  shopping  to  do." 

"  If  you  will  suffer  me,"  said  I,  "  I  shall  be  happy  to  accom-  * 
pany  you.     I  have  quite  a  taste  and  a  knack  at  shopping." 
'.t    A  most  deliberate  lie,  for  which  the  saints  plead,  and  the  hea- 
vens pardon  me.     I  know  no  occupation  that  more  chafes  and 
fetigues  me  ;  but  Ned's  affiiirs  had  rendered  my  tastes  flexible  and 
my  conscience  obtuse. 

"  But  it  will  be  taking  you  from  your  business.  You  young 
lawyers,  Mr.  Cooper,  are  said  to  be  very  ambitious  and  very  close 
students." 

I  did  not  laugh  at  the  old  lady's  simplicity,  though  I  might 
have  done  so  ;  but  answered  with  corresponding  graNity — 

"  Very  true,  ma'am,  but  that  is  just  the  reason  why  we  relish  a 
Httle  respite,  such  as  a  morning's  ramble  in  King-street  promises. 
;  Besides,  I  have  really  nothing  just  now  to  occupy  me." 
f  And  this  said,  too,  while  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas  was  in 
session.  Of  course,  I  did  not  tell  the  good  lady  that  I  had  not  a 
single  case  on  the  docket.  I  suppressed  that  fact  for  the  honour  of 
the  profession,  and  the  credit  of  the  community.  The  old  lady 
was  fond  of  deference  and  attention,  and,  as  old  ladies  are  not 
often  so  fortunate  as  to  secure  the  chaperonage  of  handsome  young 
gcntlemei?,  she  was  not  displeased  that  I  should  urge  upon  her 
my  duteous  attendance.  My  services  were  accepted,  and,  taking 
my  arm,  only  looking  round  to  see  that  Paula  did  not  take  that 
of  Ned  Bulmer,  she  led  the  way  out  of  the  parlour  and  into  the 


m 


30  THE   OOLDSK   CHRISTMAS. 


( 


street    From  Meeting  to  King,  through  Queen-street,  was  but  a 
^  step,  and  we  were  soon  in  our  fashionable  ladies*  thoroughfare. 

The  day  was  a  bright  and  mild  one,  just  sach  as  we  commonly       , 
'  experieace  in  November, — cooler  and  more  pleasant  than  usually       ^ 
characterizes  the   present  month   of  October.    The  street  was      | 
crowded  with  carriages,  and  the  trottoir  with  fair  and  happy      ^ 
groups  all  agog  with   the  always  grateful  excitement — to  the      ?^. 
ladies — of  seeing  one  another,  and — fancy  dresses.     Our  country      I 
cousins  were  encountered  at  every  turning,  and,  between  town  and       ^ 
countiy,  we  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  old  acquaintance,  and 
often  repeated  recognition.     It  was  quite  delightful  to  see  how  my 
dignified  and  venerable  companion  met  and  acknowledged  the 
salutations  of  those  she  knew.     Her  demeanour  varied  with  strict 
discrimination  of  the  casle  and  quality  of  each  acquaintance.  She 
was  a  sort  of  social  barometer,  exactly  telling  by  her  manner, 
what  sort  of  blood  flowed  in  the   veins  of  each  to  whom  she 
bowed  or  spoke.     To  some  few  she  unbent  readily,  with  a  sponta- 
neous and  unreserved  and  placid  sweetness ;  to  others  she  was 
starch  and  buckram  personified,  and,  to  not  a  few,  her  look  was 
vinegai*  and  vitriolic  acid.     Even  where  I  myself  did  not  know  the 
parties,  personally,  I  had  only  to  notice  her  manner  as  they  ap- 
proached, to  find  the'r  proper  place,  high  or  low,  in  the  social  cir- 
cles of  town  or  country.     Good,  old,  aristocratic  Dame  Girardin       f 
was  an  admirable  graduating  scale,  for  detemiining  the  qualities       % 
of  the  stock,  and  the  colour  of  the  blood,  in  the  several  candidates        | 
foi  her  notice,  as  we  perambulated  our  Maiden  Lane.     See  her  in 
contact  with  a  person  of  full  flesh — a  ^^arywiM,  not  yet  denuded  of 
vigour  by  the  successive  intermarriages  o^cousins  for  an  hundred 
years — and  tlie  muscles  of  her  face  became  corrugated  like  those  of 
an  Egyptian  mummy,  who  had  been  laid  up  in  lavender  leaves 
and  balsams,  since  the  time  of  the  Ptolomies ; — but,  the  next 
moment,  you  were  confounded  to  see  her  melt  into  sunshine  and 
zephyr,  as  she  encountered  some  dried-up,  saffron-skinned  atomy, 


KINGhSTREET    SHOPPING,    AND    8HARP    SHOOTING.  21 


having  legibly  written  on  her  cheeks,  a  parchment  title  to  have 
sate  at  the  board  of  Methuselah.     It  was  absolutely  dselightful. 

Her  comments  uj>on  the  parties  were  equally  rich  and  instruc- 
tive.    A  fine-looking,   cheery  lady,   the  well   known    and  very 

attractive  Mrs. ,  looked  out  from  her  carriage  window,  and 

smiled  and  chirrupped  to  her  as  she  drove  slowly  by. 

"  A  vulgar  creature !"  exclaimed  my  ancient  companion — 
"  what  a  coarse  voice, — what  a  fat  vulgar  face  she  has.  No  deli- 
cacy. But  how  should  she  have  any  ?  She  pretends  to  be  some- 
body now,  because  she  has  a  little  money ;  but  if  I.  were  to  say 
what  she  was — or  rather  what  her  grandfather  was — I  knew  him 
very  well,  and  have  bought  my  negro  shoes  from  him  a  hundred 
times.  Tlie  upstart.  Ah  l" — with  a  deep  sigh — "  every  thing 
degenerates.  Lord  knows  what  we  will  come  to  at  last.  It  is  a 
hard  thing  to  find  any  body  of  pure  blood  in  the  city  now  1  Such 
a  mingling  of  puddles  !  This  trade  1  This  commerce  !  I  de- 
clare it's  the  ruin  of  the  country !" 

Here  I  ventured  to  interpose  a  word  for  the  fair  woman  thus 
hardly  dealt  with — one  of  my  own  acquaintance,  whom  I  had 
every  reason  to  esteem  ; — and  I  said — 

"  It's  unfortunate,  to  be  sure,  that  Mrs. 's  grandfather 

dealt  in  negro  shoes  ;  but  she  seems  to  have  got  over  the  misfor- 
tune pretty  well.  She  is  now  every  where  acknowledged  in  the 
best  society." 

"  The  more's  the  pity.  Best  society,  indeed.  Tliere  are  half  a 
dozen  circles,  calling  themselves  the  best  society  in  Charleston, 
and  don't  I  know  that,  in  each,  they  are  crowded  with  parvenus — 
people  of  yesterday — without  any  claims  to  blood  or  family — de- 
scendants of  Scotch  and  Yankee  pedlars, — mechanics — shopkeep- 
ers^— adventurers  of  all  sorts,  who  have  nothing  but  their  impu- 
dence and  their  money — made,  heaven  knows  how — to  help  them 
forward." 

**  But,"  continued  I,  "  Mrs.  ■     '       ',  is  really  a  very  charming 


22  THE    OPLDBN   CHRISTMAS. 


( 


woman — she  is  very  clever,  very  pretty,  and  is  considered  very 
amiable." 

"  It's  impossible.  As  for  pretty,  that,  I  suppose,  is  a  matter  of 
taste  ;  and  I  can  hardly  allow  even  that.  Mere  health,  and  8m<X>th 
cheeks,  and  youth,  are  very  far  from  constituting  beauty.  Beauty 
depends  upon  delicacy,  and  symmetry,  and — blood.  As  for 
clever — I  suppose  you  mean  she's  smart" 

«  Yes  !♦» 

"Smartness  is  vulgar.  Rank  and  family  don't  need  to  be 
smart.  Talent  is  necessary  to  poverty,  or  to  inferiority  of  social 
position,  since  it  is,  perhaps,  necessary  that  there  should  be  some- 
thing, by  way  of  compensation,  given  to  persons  who  are  poor 
and  without  family  rank.  But  wealth,  talent  and  beauty,  even — 
if  all  combined — can  never  supply  those  graces  of  manner  and 
character,  which  are  the  distinguishing  qualities  of  high  birth." 

"  But  successive  generations  in  the  possession  of  wealth  and 
talent,  my  dear  madam,"  I  suggested,  "  must  surely  result  in 
those  excellencies  of  manner,  ta.ste  and  character,  which  you  pro- 
perly insist  upon  as  so  imjx)rtant."  | 

"  Impossible  !     Let  mo  warn  you  against  any  such  conclusions," 
responded  the  old  lady,  with  a  parental  shake  of  the  head  and         { 
finger.  ^ 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  of  course,  even  the  most  select  stocks  in  the  I 

world,  must  have  had  a  beginning  once,  in  some  of  the  ordinary  ? 

necessities  of  life."  f 

"  No,  sir  ;  no,  Mr.  Richard" — almost  with  severity — "  certain         ( 
families  have  been  always  superior,  from  the  beginning !     Here 

now,  here  comes  Colonel .     He  is  one  of  those,  whose 

families  were  always,  beyond  dispute,  in  the  highest  circles.  Ah  I 
the  poor  gentleman,  how  feeble  he  is — see  how  he  walks,  as  if 
about  fciUing  to  pieces." 

"  Yet  he  is  scarcely  more  than  fifty." 


\ 


x: 


f 


kiKO-STREEt   BHOPPIKO,    AND    SETARP    aHOOTlKO.  ^3 


"At!  he  is  so  wretched.    He  has  no  children,  and  ho  so  loUgS 
for  a  son,  and  his  name  will  probably  die  out.** 
.  "Yet,  he  has  been  thrice  mamed.'* 

■  "'Yes !  yes !  he  first  marrie<l  Mary ,  then  her  sister  Jan^ 

and  lastly,  her  younger  sister,  Matilda ; — and  no  children." 
"  All  were  his  cousins,  I  think  ?'* 
"  Yes !  and  Matilda  is  even  now,  I  hear,  a  dying  woman  !     Fill 
sure  I  pity  him  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul.     That  such  a  family 
should  become  extinct." 

"  Jle  is  now  poor,  I  am  told.     Has  nm  through  his  fortune." 
\  "  Run  through  his  fortune,  Mr.  Cooper !    I  don't  Hke  the  phrase* 

f      He  has  lived  like  a  gentleman  and  a  pnnce,  and  has  become  im- 
povcrislied  in  consequence.     He  has  erred,  perhaps,  by  such  ex- 
travagant li\  ing ;  but  I  cannot  think  severely  of  a  person  who  has 
l|l      spent  it  in  such  a  noble  style  of  hospitality.     My  heart  bleeds  for 
I      him!" 

I  Here  the  person  spoken  of  approached, — a  person  well  known 
I  about  town, — one  who  had  wasted  his  means  like  a  fool,  and  had 
i     not  the  soul  to  recover  them  like  a  man, — whose  ancestors  had 

)    exhausted  the  physical  vigour  of  the  family  by  a  monstrous  succes- 
sion of  intermarriages ;  and  who  had  consummated  the  extreme 
•     measure  of  their  follies,  by  himself  marrying  three  cousins  in  suc- 
cession.    The  natural  cou'^equence  was  physical  and  moral  imbe- 
cility.    The  race  had  perished,  and  it  was,  perhaps,  just  enough 
\        that  its  possessions  should  disappear  also.     I  confess  that  1  felt  but 
#      little  sympathy  for  such  a  person ;'  and  as  he  tottered  up  to  ns, 
and  smirked,  and  smiled,  and  sniggered,  and  talked  with  an  inan- 
^ity   corresponding  exactly  with  his  character,  the  pity  which  his 
>verty  and  feebleness  might  have  inspired,  was  all  swallowed  up 
in  the  scorn  which  I  felt  for  such  equal  impotence  and  vanity. 

"  Ah  I  it's  melancholy,"  said  the  old  lady,  as  he  left  us  ;  "  such 
a  name,  such  a  family,  so  reduced — ^reduced  to  one,  and  he,  yott 
may  say,  akeady  half  in  the  grave  " 


'} 


^ 


%i  tfiS   OOLDSN   OUBISTklAS.  f 


I  had  half  a  mind  to  ask  the  old  lady,  if  she  didn't  think  it     \ 
Would  have  been  preferable  had  his  father  married  some  vigorous      ^ 
young  woman  of  no  family  at  all,  and  brought  up  his  son  to  some 
Inanly  occupation;  so  that  he  himself  might  be  now  vigorous,  with    / 
sense  enough  to  marry,  in  turn,  some  vigorous  young  woman,  of  / 
no  family  at  all ;  having  health  all  round,  numerous  children  to  v,^ 
perpetuate  the  name,  and  energies  sufficient  to  p^eser^'e  the  for*     V 
tune ; — but  I  felt  the  danger  to  the  cause  of  Ned  Bulmer,  of  touch* 
ing  upon  ground  so  delicate ;  and,  at  this  moment,  the  worthy 
granddame  looked  about  her  for  Paula  and  hor  companion.     In 
her  disquisitions  upon  the  new  and  vulgur  people,  and  her  long 
talk  ^vith  the  dying  Ca^tilian  of  rare  blue  blood,  she  had  quite  for- 
go'ten  the  young  couple.     They  had  enjoyed  the  field  to  them- 
selves, and  were  now  not  to  be  seen.     The  old  lady  took  the  alarm. 
1  told  her  they  had  probably  popt  into  Kerrison's,  and  we  went 
back  to  look  for  them.     There  they  were,  sure  enough,  Paula 
looking  over  silks  and  velvets — a  wilderness  of  beauty,  in  the  am* 
pie  world  and  variety  of  the  accommodating  house  in  question- 
but  with  Ned  Bulmer  close  to  her  side,  whispering  those  oily  de- 
lights into  her  ear,  with  which  young  lovers  are  apt  to  solace 
themselves  and  their  companions,  in  this  otherwise  very  cheerless 
existence.     It  was  evident  to  me,  from  the  grave  fj\ce  of  the  dam- 
sel, and  the  conscious  one  of  Ned,  that  ho  had  done  a  large 
amount  of  haymaking  that  morning.     Whether  the  old  lady  sus- 
pected the  progress  which  he  had  made  or  not,  it  was  not  easy  to 
determine.     She  did  not  show  it,  and  was  soon  as  much  interest- 
ed in  the  examination  of  the  various  and  gorgeous  fabrics  around 
her,  as  any  younger  person  in  the  establishment, — which,  as  usual,  }  * 
was  crowded  Uke  a  ball-room.     Kerrison's,  indeed,  is  quite  a  lounge,     \ 
for  the  ladies ; — a  place  where,  if  you  wish  to  find  your  friends    '     t 
and   acquiiintance,   without   the    trouble   of    looking  them   up,      •*  i 
you  have  only  to  go  thither.     The  deiu"  old  grandmother  soon  \ 

found  sundry  of  hers,  of  town  and  country,  and  was  again  in  httle  1 


KING-STREET   SHOPPING,    AND    SHARP    SHOOTING.  25 


while  under  full  sail  over  the  sea  of  social  conversation — one  of 
those  admirable  seas,  by  the  way,  in  which  no  one  gets  out  of  his 
depth.  Of  course,  when  Madame  Girardin  got  as  deeply  as  she 
could  amidst  the  waters,  Ned  Buhner  resumed  his  toil  upon  the 
meadows  at  the  more  sunny  and  profitable  occupation.  I  loitered 
at  a  convenient  dist<anco  between  the  duenna  and  the  damsel,  con- 
triving, in  the  most  unconscious  manner  in  the  world,  to  interpose 
as  a  sort  of  shield  for  the  protection  of  the  latter  from  the  occa- 
sional glances  of  the  former.  When  Madame  seemed  to  have 
bathed  long  enough,  in  her  favourite  streams,  and  turned  again  to 
the  counter,  she  found  me  promptly  at  her  elbow  turning  over  for 
her  inspection  piles  of  changeable  silk,  chintzes  of  the  finest  pat- 
terns, shawls  and  other  stuffs,  for  which  my  experience  in  the  dry 
goods  business  is  not  sufficient  to  allow  n)c  to  recall  the  proper 
names.  Fancy  the  dreariness  of  this  employment — reviewing  for 
a  mortal  hour  all  sorts  of  fabrics,  coarse  and  fine,  silk  and  frieze, 
cloths  worthy  of  a  nobleman,  and  cloths  not  unworthy  of  Sambo 
and  Sukey  I  Verily,  friendship  required  of  me  great  sacrifices 
that  day,  and  I  inwardly  swore  that  Ned  should  suffer,  in  a  basket 
of  champagne  at  least,  to  be  sent  the  very  next  day  to  my  lodg- 
ings. (Par parcnthese,  he  did  so — and  helped  me  "to  drink  it 
too  !)  I  even  undertook,  such  was  my  good  nature,  to  get  the 
good  grandmother's  orders  for  groceries  supplied — listening  pa- 
tiently to  a  volume  of  instnictions  touching  the  quality  of  raisins, 
citron,  almonds,  and  other  matters,  all  portending  cakes,  pies,  pud- 
dings, and  other  Christmas  essentials  and  essences.  But  this 
aside. 

From  Kerrison's  we  sauntered  off  to  Lambert's  and  Calder's, 
the  old  lady  being  sworn  to  a  new  tapestry  carpet,  and  being  very 
choice  about  colours  and  figures.  The  choice  was  made  at  last, 
and  after  picking  up  some  rings,  chains,  and  other  pretty  trinkets 
at  Hay  den's,  intended  for  Christmas  presents,  dear  little  Paula 
recollected  that  she  required  books ;  so  we  went  to  Russell's.  Here 
8  / 


26  THE   GOLDEN   OHRISTlilAS. 


-I, 


*"- 


the  stately  grandmama,  trained  in  the  slid*  old  Behoof  recoiled 
with  a  feeling  akin  to  horror,  as  her  eye  rested  on  the  exquisite 
and  elaborate  busts  of  Psyche  and  the  Greek  Slave.  I  couldn't 
I>er8uade  her  to  a  secorid  look  at  them. 

",  Such  shows,"  said  she,  "  would  not  have  been  permitted  in 
my  day.  Powers,  indeed !  He  must  be  a  very  bad  person.  But, 
I  have  said  already,  I  see  what  we're  coming  to.  The  good  old 
stocks  die  out,  and  every  thing  degenerates.  Loose  morals,  vul- 
gar fashions,  bad  manners,  and  gross,  coarse,  nameless  people,  of 
whom  nobody  even  heai-d  ten  years  ago." 

A  large  pictm-e  in  front  arrested  her  eye.  Certain  chubby  an- 
gels, suspended  in  air,  were  w  aiting  for  the  escaping  soul  of  a 
dyibg  martyr.  The  old  lady  seemed  quite  distressed  about  the 
angels.  Iler  criticism  would,  no  doubt,  have  greatly  afflicted 
the  artist. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "  they  look  as  if  they  were  going  to  tumble 
upon  the  heads  of  the  people.  And  well  they  may  ;  for  the  paint- 
er has  made  them  so  fat  and  vulgar  that  no  wings  in  the  world 
can  keep  them  up.  As  if  an  angel  should  have  fatness.  They 
look  as  if  they  fed  upon  pork  and  sausages.  It's  very  shocking — , 
very  vulgar.  Why,  Paula,  those  angels  look  for  all  the  world  like 
the  great-cheeked,  troublesome  fat  boys  of  old  Oargus, — only  he 
don't  let  em  go  quite  so  bare  in  cold  weather."  • 

Kussoll  nearly  fainted  at  this  criticism,  but  he  did  not  despair  of 
tlie  old  lady,  and  modestly  suggested  that  he  c<;)uld  show  her 
something  which  he  fancied  would  please  her  better. 

"  Only  step  back  here,  ma'am,"  said  he  in  his  most  courteous 
manner.  But  the  dear  old  Castilian  grandmama  was  not  to  be 
inveigled  even  by  the  profound  bow  and  gi'aceful  smile  of  our 
covrtly  Bibllopolist. 

"  No !  sir !"  quoth  she  with  stately  courtesy — "  I  thank  you ;  I 
have  seen  enough — quite  enough.  Such  things  are  not  grateful 
to  my  eyes.    I  am  only  sorry  that  they  should  please  any  eyes." 


I 


i 


THE  PARISH THE  DULMER  BARONY.  27 


And  she  looked  as  if  she  were  about  to  add — "  I  have  lived  only 
too  long."  And  she  nodded  her  head  slowly  several  times,  as  if 
over  the  wickedness  of  the  modem  Nineveh, — by  which,  of  course, 
you  must  understand,  our  poor  little  city  of  Charlej^ton.  Paula  was 
less  sensitive,  and  of  coui-se  more  sinful.  She  looked  with  eajrer 
eyes  at  the  beautiful  busts,  hung  upon  the  Psyche,  much  to  the 
disquiet  of  grandmama,  even  contemplated  the  picture  of  the  hide- 
ous looking  saint,  and  the  vulgarly  fat  little  angels,  and,  following 
Russell  into  the  back  room  was  startled  into  admiration  by  the  ex- 
quisite ideal  of  the  Escaping  Soul.  I  can't  say  that  she  was  much 
impressed  by  the  Transfiguration — certainly  not  with  the  tributary 
scene  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  But  we  must  stop.  It  was 
three  o'clock  before  we  had  finished  the  shopping  ramble  through 
King-street  "When  we  left  the  ladies  again  at  tlie  Mansion 
House,  Ned  Bulmer  was  quite  in  high  spirits,  and  full  of  commen- 
dations. 

"  You  did  the  thing  handsomely,  Dick,  and  I  flatter  myself  I 
have  done  the  thing  handsomely  too.  Paula  does  not  promise  me 
positively  to  nm  up  the  flag  of  independence ;  but  she  has  suffered 
me  to  see  that  she  will  never  compel  me  to  commit  matrimony 
"with  any  body  else,  or  suicide  for  the  want  of  her.  And  now  for 
dinner.     You  take  your  soup  with  me  to-day,  of  course. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  PARISH. THE  BULMER  BARONY. 

Our  scene  now  changes  from  town  to  country — from  St  Phihp's 
and  St  Michael's  to  St  John's,  sumamed  of  Berkeley.  Dame  Ag- 
nes-Theresa and  Paula  Bonneau  had  taken  their  departure  from 
Charleston,  the  second  day  after  our  shopping  expedition  through 


-0 


28    ,  "  T9B    GOLDEN    0UBISTMA8. 


■t\ 


King-street  I  had  seen  them  that  night  and  the  next,  on  both 
occasions  accompanied  by  Ned  Bulmer.  I  am  happy  to  inform  my 
pleasant  public  that  nothing  transpired  during  those  two  visits  to 
imdo  the  favourable  results  which  have  been  already  reported.  By 
dint  of  the  utmost  vigilance  and  solicitude,  I  contrived  to  steer 
wide  of  the  morbid  sensibilities  of  our  grandmother,  or  so  to  han- 
dle them  as  to  leave  her  as  amiably  soothed  as  vmder  the  passes 
of  a  scientific  magnetizer.  Miss  Martiueau  could  not  have  opera- 
ted more  admirably  for  the  recovery  of  her  favourite  dun  cow, 
which  all  the  doctors  had  given  up.  The  auspices  thus  favourable,  | 

we  beheld  their  departure  for  the  country  with  confident  anticipa-  if* 

tions,  and  after  the  lapne  of  a  week  Ned  Bulmer  followed  them.  ^'  ^ 

Not,  be  it  remembered,  that  he  proceeded  to  visit  them  at  Rouge- 
mont,  the  plantation  seat  of  the  13onneau  family  for  a  hundred  { 

years — so  called,  because  the  house  was  erected  on  a  red  clay  ^ 

bank, — but  that  he  went  into  the  same  parish,  and  somewhat  in  ^ 

the  immediate  neighbourhood,  trusting  to  the  chapter  of  accidents,  J' 

— being  always  in  the  way — for  an  occasional  meeting  with  the  ^ 

lovely  Paula.  As  for  going  straight  to  Rougemont,  even  for  a 
morning  call,  that  was  a  thing  impossible.  The  good  old  grand- 
mother, hospitable  and  courtly  as  she  was,  had  never  honoured 
him  with  the  slighest  intimation  that  his  presence  there  would  bo 
agreeable.  She  wiis  somewhat  justified  in  this  treatment,  accord- 
ing to  parish  opinion,  by  the  long  feud  which  had  existed  between 
the  Bulmer  and  Bonneau  families.  Ned  was  unfortunate  in  his 
operations,  and  baffled  in  all  his  plans  and  hopes.  It  so  happened 
that  he  never  met  with  Paula,  nor  could  he  contrive  any  mode  of 
communicating  with  her.  The  consequence  was,  that  after  fruit- 
less experiments  for  ten  days,  he  wrote  to  urge  my  early  coming 
up.  As  a  strong  inducement  to  me  to  anticipate  the  period  which 
1  had  tissigned  for  my  visit,  he  advised  me  of  the  return  of  Bea- 
trice Mazyck  from  the  mountains,  llo  knew  my  weakness  with 
regard  to  this  young  lady,  and,  though  he  knew  my  doubts  of 


/i 


THE  PARISH THE  BULMER  BARONY.  29 


success,  and  could  himself  hold  out  no  oncouragcmcnts,  his  selfish 
desires  prompted  him  to  counsel  me  to  hurry  up  and  look  also  to 
the  chapter  of  chances  for  those  prospects  which  lie  could  not 
base  upon  reasonable  probal)ilities.  Was  it  friendship,  or  my  own 
passion,  that  moved  me  to  an  instant  compliance  with  his  request? 
The  reader  is  j>ermitted  to  suppose  just  which  he  pleases.  I  push- 
ed for  the  parish  in  three  days  after  receiving  his  letter,  leaving 

my  law  office  in  the  hands  of  my  young  friend  A T ; 

who  so  happily  divides  himself  Ix'tween  Law  and  Poesy,  without 
having  the  slightest  misgivings  of  the  jealousy  of  either  mistress. 
The  legal  control  of  my  bachelor  household  was  jielded  to  Tabi- 
tha,  my  cook, — who,  since  the  awkward  hints  of  Ned  Bulmer,  had 
taken  frequent  occasions  to  assure  me  that  the  peace  of  my  house 
was  secure  only  so  long  as  it  was  that  of  a  bachelor. 

The  Bulmer  Barony — for  old  Bulmer,  great-great-grandfather  to 
Ned,  had  lx»en  one  of  the  Barons  of  Carolina,  when,  under  the 
fundamental  constitutions  ascribed  to  Locke,  the  province  had  a 
nobility  of  its  own — was  still  a  splendid  estate,  though  considera- 
bly cut  down  from  its  old  dimensions  of  twenty-thousand  acres. 
I  suppose  the  "  Barony,"  now,  includes  little  more  than  four  thou- 
sand. Still,  it  was  a  property  for  a  prince,  and  the  present  in- 
cumbent. Major  Marmaduko  Bulmer,  was  accounted  one  of  the 
wealthiest  of  our  landholders.  Ho  owned  some  three  hundred 
slaves,  of  whom  half  the  number,  perhaps,  were  workers.  Ned's 
own  property,  in  right  of  his  mother,  was  a  decent  beginning  for  a 
pnident  man,  and  ho  was  looking  About  for  the  purchase  of  a 
small  plantation  in  the  neighbourhood  on  which  to  settle,  as  soon  aa 
his  negroes  came  under  his  own  control.  At  the  "  Barony "  I 
was  received  with  such  a  welcome,  as  none  knows  better  how  to 
accord  than  the  Carolina  gentleman  of  the  old  school.  Major  Bul- 
mer had  been  trained  in  this  school,  which,  by  the  way,  in  the 
low  country  parishes,  was  of  two  classes.  There  was  an  English 
and  a  French  class.  The  one  was  distinguished  by  frankness,  the 
3* 


so  THE   GOLDEN    OHRISTMAJb. 


♦ 


other  by  propriety ; — the  former  was  rough  ana  impulsive,  the 
latter  scrupulous  and  delicate ;  the  former  was  apt  to  storm,  occa- 
sionally, the  latter  to  sneer  and  indulge  in  sarcasm  ;  the  former 
was  loud  and  eager ;  the  latter  was  tinctured  witli  propriety  which 
sometimes  became  formality.  In  process  of  time,  the  two  schools 
modified  each  other ;  at  all  times,  they  were  equally  hospitable 
and  generous :  fond  of  display,  scorning  meanness,  and,  accord- 
ingly, too  frequently  sacrificing,  the  substantial  securities  of  life, 
for  the  more  attractive  enjoyments  of  society.  This  will  suffice  to 
give  an  idea  of  the  general  characteristics  of  the  two  classes.  Ma- 
jor Buhner  was  not  an  unfair  spocimen  of  the  former.  He  did  not 
belong  to  the  modern  mincing  school  of  the  EngUsh,  which  has 
somewhat  impaired  its  manners  by  graftings  from  the  Continent 
which  sit  but  awkwardly  on  the  sturdy  old  Anglo-Norman  stock. 
He  was  not  a  nice,  staid,  marvelloitsly  measured  old  gentleman, 
who  said  "how  nice!"  when  ho  was  delighted  with  any  thing, 
and  hemmed  and  hawed  over  a  sentence,  measuring  every  word 
a?  if  he  dreaded  lest  he  should  commit  a  lapse  in  grammar.  On 
the  contrary  he  was  apt  to  blurt  out  the  words  just  iis  they  came 
uppermost,  as  if  perfectly  assured  that  he  could  say  nothing  amiss. 
So  again,  instead  of  the  low,  subdued,  almost  whispered  tones 
whicb  the  modern  fine  gentleman  of  England  aflTocts,  he  was  apt 
to  be  somewhat  loud  and  voluminous — boisterous,  perhaps — when 
a  httle  excited,  and  at  all  times  sending  out  his  utterances  with  a 
sort  of  mountain  torrent  impulse.  In  a  passion,  his  voice  was  a 
sort  of  cross  between  the  roar  of  a  young  lion,  and  the  scream  of 
an  eagle  darting  after  its  prey. 

But,  the  reader  must  not  suppose  that  Major  Bulmer  was  a  sort 
of  American  Squir<^  Western.  He  was  no  rough,  ungainly,  sput- 
tering, swaggering,  untrained,  untrimmed  north  country  squire, 
bull-headedly  bolting  into  the  circle,  and  storming  and  splurging 
through  it,  wig  streaming  and  cudgel  flourishing  on  every  hand. 
The  Major  was  a  man  of  force  and  impulse,  but  he  was  a  man  of 


THE  PARISH — THE  BULMER  BARONY.  SI 


dignity  also.  His  character  was  bold  and  salient — his  nature 
doniandod  it — but  it  had  been  trained,  and  in  not  a  bad  school. 
It  had  the  sort  of  polish  which  was  at  once  natural  to,  and  suffi- 
cient for  it,  and  his  impulse  was  not  without  its  grace,  and  his 
vehemence  was  not  wanting  in  the  necessary  forbearance.  No 
doubt,  he  sometimes  shocked  very  weak  nerves ;  and,  knowing 
that,  he  was  not  apt  to  force  his  way  into  sick  chambers.  If  the 
invalid  sensibility  came  in  his  way,  it  was  at  its  own  peril.  vSo 
much  for  the  Major's  morale.  Ilis  personnel  was  like  his  moral. 
He  was  large,  well  made,  erect  at  sixty,  with  full  rosy  cheeks,  hve- 
ly  blue  eyes,  a  frosty  ]X)w,  but  a  lofty  one,  and  ho  carried  himself 
like  a  mountain  hunter.  On  horseback,  ho  looked  like  a  natural 
captain  of  cavalry,  and,  I  have  no  doubt  he  would  have  led  a 
charge  such  as  would  have  made  Marshal  Ney  clap  hands  in 
approbation. 

The  Major  met  me  at  the  porch  of  "  The  Barony."  and  took 
A   me  by  the  shoulders,  instead  of  by  the  hands. 

*'  What,  Dick,  "said  he,  "  what,  the  dovil !  You  are  letting 
hard  study  and  the  law  kill  you  up.  You  are  as  thin  as  a  cypress 
pole,  and  look  quite  as  melancholy.  You  are  pale,  wan,  and  quite 
unlike  what  you  were  two  years  ago.  Then,  you  could  have  stood 
a  wrestle  with  any  of  us, — now, — deuce  take  me  Dick,  if  I  can't 
throw  you  myself." 

And  he  seemed  half  disposed  to  try  the  experiment. 

"  But  this  Christmas  in  the  parish  will  bring  you  up  again. 
You  must  recruit.  You  must  throw  those  law  books  to  the  de\-il. 
No  man  has  a  right  to  pursue  any  study  or  profession  which  impairs 
manhood.  Manhood,  Dick,  is  the  first  of  virtues.  It  includes,  it 
implies  them  all.  Strength,  health  and  courage, — these  are  the 
first  necessities — without  these  I  would'nt  give  a  tig  for  any  >'irtue. 
It  could'nt  be  useful  without  it,  and  a  stagnant  virtue  might  as  well 
^^  be  a  vice  for  all  the  benefit  it  does  society." 

I  report  the  Major  literally.     His  speech  will  show  the  reader 

i 


«. 


32  THC    GQLDSN    OnRIfiTMAS. 


the  sort  of  character  with  whom  ho  has  to  deal.  I  need  not  say 
that  I  woi*  rocoivod  at  "  The  Barony,"  as  if  I  had  been  one  of  the 
household.  Miss  Janet  Buhner,  the  maiden  sister  of  the  Major,  a 
calm,  quiet,  sensible,  and  rather  pretty  anticiue— she  certainly  had 
been  pretty,  and,  by  the  way,  had  been  crossed  in  love — welcomed 
me  as  affectionately  as  if  I  had. been  her  own  son.  She  was  the  f 
Major's  liouaokeepcr,  shared  some  of  his  characteristics,  if  not  his 
prejudices,  but  was  subdued  evon  to  nuH'kiiess  in  her  domeunour. 
Not  that  she  hud  lont  '\or  spirit ;  but  its  oxcrcsMu  hcMoui  »»uHi'r<'d 
provocation.  She  rescued  :ne  from  the  clutches  of  her  brother, 
and  conducted  me  to  my  chamber,  in  what  was  called  the  garden 
wing  of  the  establishment.  It  was  near  sunset  when  I  ai-rived, 
and  Ned  Buhner  was  absent ;  no  one  knew  whither.  He  had 
gone  out  on  hoi*Hub»ick  ;  I  sUMpoct4Hl  in  what  direction.  1  wjui 
busy  at  the  toilet,  adjusting  myself  for  presentiition  at  supper, 
when  he  burst  into  the  room,  with  a  cr}'  of  joy  and  welcome.  He 
had  a  great  deal  to  say,  but  the  report  was  not  favourable.  He  had 
not  yet  been  able  to  meet  with  Paula. 

•»  But  now  that  you  uro  egme,  my  duar  frllow,  you  will  call  upon 
the  old  lady,  and  convey  the  necessary  message  to  the  young  one." 

All  of  which  I  promised.  We  were  yet  busy  in  det^iils  when 
Zack,  the  most  courtly  negro  that  ever  wore  gentleman's  livery, 
made  his  aj)pearancc. 

"  Ifuppy  to  s('<i  yon,  Mr.  Ttichard, — very  happy,  sir; — not  look- 
ing so  well  as  in  old  times,  Mr.  Kichard ; — hope  you'll  improve, 
sir,  at  the  Barony.  Mr.  Ned, — Miss  Janet  says — 8uj)per'8  on 
table,  gentlemen." 

Stately,  courteous,  deliberate,  respectful,  considerate,  proper,  re- 
served, always  satisfactory,  Zaclmrias  1     You  me  a  treasure  in  any 
gentleman's  household  !     We  })roniptly  obeyed  the  summons  of 
Aunt  Janet — for  so  I  had  long  been  accustomed  to  call  her,  in  the 
,  language  of  my  friend. 


SUPPER    AKD    PHILOSOPHY.  83 


CHAPTER  V. 

SUPPER  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 


If,  dear  reader,  you  have  been  one  of  those  luckless  earthlings 
to  whom  an  indulgent  providence  has  never  permitted  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  hospitalities  of  a  Southern  plantation,  the  proprietors 
of  which  have  been  trained  to  good  performances,  by  long  prac- 
tice, under  generous  tuition,  derived  from  the  habits,  customs, 
manners,  tastes  and  wealth  of  long  time  ago, — I  can  only  pity 
your  ignorance,  for,  it  is  not  possible,  in  the  brief  space  allotted  to 
me  in  this  narrative,  to  undertake  to  cure  it.  You  must  gather 
up  from  incidental  suggestions  and  remarks,  a«i  I  proceed,  what 
faint  notion  I  may  thus  afford  you,  of  the  thousand  nameless 
peculiarities  which  so  gratefully  distinguish  social  hfe  in  the  re- 
gions through  which  we  ramble  together.  It  is  not  pretended, 
mark  me,  that  in  this  respect  we  have  undergone  no  changes. 
Far  from  it  The  last  thirty  years  have  done  much  to  render  tra- 
ditional, in  many  quarters,  those  graces  of  hospitality  which  con- 
stituted the  great  charm  of  our  old  plantations  ;  and,  in  particu- 
lar, to  lose  for  us  the  solid  advantages  of  an  English  training  and 
J  education,  as  it  was  taught  eighty  years  ago  to  our  planters  in  Eu- 
rope, without  giving  to  their  descendants  any  corresponding  equi- 
valent for  it  Still  there  are  tokens  and  trophies  of  the  past, 
making  dear  and  holy  certain  ancient  homesteads — an  atmos- 
phere of  the  venerably  sweet  in  the  antique,  the  spells  of  which 
have  not  entirely  passed  away.  But  these  tokens  no  longer  exhi- 
bit the  usual  vitality,  though  they  retain  the  familiar  form.  Their 
'  traces  may  be  likened  to  the  withered  rose  leaves  in  your  old  cabi- 
I    net,  that  still  faintly  appeal  to  the  senses,  but  rather  recall  what 

ithey  cannot  restore,  and  pain  you  by  the  contrasts  they  force  upon 
I  you,  rather  than  compensate  you  by  their  still  hngering  sweetness. 


84  'i)^E   OOLDBN   OHRIBTMAS.  t^li% 


It  was  the  pride  and  pawion  of  Major  Bulmer, — who  was  fiilly  con- 
BclouN  of  tJio  (•htirigoH  ifiAug  on  in  the  country,-— that  **  Dulmor 
Barony"  sliould  Ix^  the  lant  to  surrender  those  social  virtues  wliich 
constituted  the  r«iro  excellence  of  our  old  plantation  life  in  the 
South. 

His  home  was  a  venerable  brick  mansion,  after  the  old  English 
fashion  in  most  respects, — a  groat  square  fiibric,  with  wings,     llio 
pnsnage-way  or  hall  was  spacious,  and  the  maHHive  stair-flight  that 
ascended  from  it,  was  of  mahogany  of  the  most  solid  fabric.     No 
miserable  veneering  was  the  broad  plate,  and  the  elaborate  mould- 
ing.    This  great  house  was  always  kept  in  thorough  repair ; — 
not  looking  fresh  and  shiny,  with  paint  and  plastor,  and  green 
blinds, — but  k«'pt  whole, — no  decay  sutVorcd, — no  nign  of  docay, 
even  though  the  ivy  was  sutlered  to  creep  and  clunilx'r,  greening 
the  whole  north  wall,  leaving  but  narrow  space  for  the  windows 
even,  and  stretching  romid  and  hanging  over  the  corners  of  the 
house  on  the  east  and  west.     Not  a  service  or  a  servant  was  less- 
ened, or  cut  off  from  the  CHtabliMliment  as  it  wjis  known  in  the 
days  of  his  graiulfiither.     Ulie  butler,  the  porter,  the  waiters,  the 
outsiders,  the  post-boy,— all  were  the  same.     He  still  drove  his 
coach  and  four,  though  he  permitted  himself  a  buggy  with  four 
soiits  and  driven  by  a  pair,  CK'CfiMioimliy  giving  it  a  curse,  not  be- 
cau^se'it  did  not  exactly  please  him,  but  lx.'cause  it  was  an  innova- 
tion.    JJreakfiist,  dinner,  lunch,  supper — all  aftttr  the  old  fiiMhioii— 
recurred  ever  at  the  same  period.     The  cook  had  lx*en  so  regu- 
lated that  she  herself  had  become  a  first  rate  time-piece.     It  was 
surprising  how  admirably  her  time  corresponded  with  that  of  the 
hall  clock,  which  was  always  kept  in  proper  order.     Then,  there 
could  be  no  possible  change  in  the  character  of  the  dishes.  Tliese 
were  rigidly  old  English, — nay,  almost  Saxon  in  their  sohdity. 
*'  None  of  your  French  kickshows  for  me,"  quoth  the  Major,  when 
his  son  spoke  of  pdt^  defoid  yras.     AVhat !  eat  the  liver  com- 
plaint !  and  that  of  a  goose  too.     May  I  swallow  my  own  liver 


11 


BUPPER   AND    PHILOSOPHY.  35 


*  first.     No  !  Ned  I  none  of  that  nonsense,  boy.     It  is  quit*  enough 
to  sicken  me  to  see  you  with  that  d — d  swallow-tailed  republican 
^  French  coat,  which  you  properly  call  a  Lamar tinr." 

"  Why,  father,  it  is   a  mere  elalx>ration  of  an  English  shooting 

jacket." 

^      "Nonsense !     You  arc  speaking  of  the  modem  English,  ^vho  are 

nothing  but  continental  apes   and  asses.     Tlie  real  old  English, 

lK>foro  they  became  corrupted  with  iheir  paltry  aftectations,  would 

i  liave  scorned  such  a  popinjay  fashion.     At  all  event.-*,  if  you  will 

I  wear  such  a  moa^trosity,  and  disfigure  an  otherwise  good  person, 

\  vo\i  are  at  hberty  to  do  so,  but  by no  French  diseases  shall 

l>e  employed  as  a  substitute  for  wholesome  human  food,  at  the 
Barony,  while  I  am  the  master  of  it." 

Accordingly,  the  supper  table  of  >rajor  Bulmer  exhibited  no  im- 
]X)rted  meats,  unless  we  include  in  this  category  a  delicious  Buft'alo 
tongue,  of  which  I  devoured  more  than  a  reasonable  man's  pro- 
}K)rtion.     Some  excellent  stuffed  beef,  part  of  a  round  from  din- 
4  ner,  a  ham  into  which  the  first  incisions  were  that  day  made,  some 
i  cold  mutton,   which  I  contend  to  be  a  specially  good  thing  in 
^  spite  of  Goldsmith's   sneering  reference,   (in  Retaliation,)  and  a 
variety  besides,  made  the  table  hterally  to  groan  under  its  bur- 
den ;  and  the  reader  will  suppose  a  corresix)nding  variety  of  bread 
stutfe  and  cakes,  jellies  and  other  matters.     Ask  Major  Bulmer,  on 
the  subject,  and  he  would  readily  admit  the  doubtful  taste  of  such 
arrangement  and  display.     "  But,"  says  he,  "  it  is  the  old  custom. 
1  inherited  it — it  is  sacred  as  the  practice  of  my  ancestors, — and  in 
these  days  of  democracy,  whicli   threaten  to  tiUTi  the  world  upside 
down,  in  which  old  tilings  are  to  become  new,  I  do  not  feel  myself 
at  liberty  to  question  the  propriety  of  the  few  antique  fashions 
which  I  am  permitted  to  retain.     I  prefer  to  incur  the  reproach  of 
a  deficient  taste  to  that  of  a  failing  veneration." 

We  did  ample  justice  to  the  provisions — our  api>etito  suffering 
no  censure  from  taste  in  respect  to  the  arrangements  of  the  tabic. 


-Jen 

80  TBB   QOLDKK    OilRISTMAS.  *''^J^ 


After  supper  we  adjourned  to  the  Hbrary, — Major  Bulmer  impro- 
ving, by  the  way,  upon  hw  grandfather,  having  contrived  to 
make  a  Iiandsome  collection  of  some  three  thousand  volumes,  all 
in  solid  English  bindings  (done  in  New- York)  and  in  massive 
cases,  manufactured  out  of  our  native  forest  growth.  These,  I  am 
happy  to  say,  issued  from  the  workshops  of  Charleston.  Ilero, 
with  floor  finely  cari>etcd,  books  around  us  for  every  temper,  a 
rousing  fire  of  oak  and  hickory  in  the  ample  fireplace,  and  each  et 
us  disposed  in  great  rocking  chairs,  wo  meditated  through  the 
media  of  the  best  Rio  Hondos — the  Major  excepted — who  pre- 
ferred to  send  up  the  smokes  of  Indian  sacrifice,  from  a  native  clay 
pipe,  which  he  had  bought  thirty  years  before  from  a  Gatawba. 

*'  Life  !"  quoth  the  Major, — "  Life  !" — that  was  all.  The  smoke 
did  the  rest,  and  each  of  us  instinctively  thought  of  vapour. 

"  Yes,  life  is  not  such  a  bad  thing  !"  continued  the  Major. 
"  Nay  !  give  a  man  enough  to  go  upon,  and  life  is  rather  a  good 
thing  in  its  way.  Indeed,  I  am  not  sure  but  I  would  rather  hve 
than  not.  Somehow,  I  get  on  very  well.  I  make  good  crops, 
and  I  have  a  good  appetite.  I  can  back  a  hoi-se  against  a  regi- 
ment, and  I  have  a,  taste  for  Madeira.  Yet  I  have  had  troubles, 
and  cares,  and  anxieties.  That  son,  Dick,  is  one  of  my  anxieties. 
I  want  to  see  the  fellow  married." 

"  I  suspect,"  said  I,  "  that  he  would  hke  to  see  himself  married.** 

"  No,  indeed  !"  quoth  the  Major  quickly.     "  Why,  the  d 1, 

should  he  wish  to  be  married  !  What  will  marriage  do  for  such  a 
fellow.  lie  is  quite  too  young,  yet,  to  understand  its  importance. 
He  is  too  unsettled  !     Ho  must  sow  his  wild  oats  first." 

"  He  wants  tc^  settle ; — and,  as  for  sowing  his  wild  oats.  Major, 
I  see  no  reason  why  he  should  not  sow  them  in  his  own  grounds." 

"Every  chap,  now-a-days,"  responded  the  Major,  "  before  he 
fairly  chips  the  shell,  wants  to  settle  himself  as  his  own  master. 
Ned  has  the  same  foolish  hankerings.  He  talks  of  buying  and 
planting.     Why  not  plant  with  me  ?" 


«!»> 


BUPPER   AND   PHILOSOPHY.  37 


"  But  you,  sir,  did  not  plant  with  your  own  father.  You  set 
up  for  yourself,  if  I  remember  rightly,  before  you  came  of  age  ;'* 
said  Ned,  with  a  chuckle,  thinking  he  had  caught  the  old  man 
between  the  ribs. 

"  So  I  did,"  said  he,  "  and  lost  by  it.  I  lost,  God  knows  how, 
eleven  thousand  dollars  in  three  years." 

"  Tliat  was  because  you  were  so  extravagant,"  quoth  Ned  irrev- 
erently.    "  Were  you  to  follow  my  example  now." 

"  Get  out,  you  young  rascal  I  Follow  your  example  1  You 
are  looking  at  that  place'  of  old  Gendron :  but  you  could  never 
wake  anything  there.     It  was  worn  out  forty  years  ago." 

"  I  don't  tliink  it  was  ever  worn  at  all,"  answered  Ned — "  I 
doubt  if  it  was  ever  ploughed  fairly  in  its  life.  The  surface  was 
only  scratched  in  those  days.  ITie  good  soil  yet  hes  below,  and 
can  bring  first  rate  cotton  under  goo4  cultivation." 

"  And  who  made  you  a  planter  ?  What  sort  of  cultivation 
would  you  give  it,  do  you  think  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  would  trust 
you  with  a  crop  of  mine  ?  Don't  I  know  what  ^vill  come  of  your  , 
setting  up  for  yourself?  In  six  months  you'll  be  coming  to  me 
for  money.  In  a  year  I  shall  have  to  step  forward  and  assume 
your  responsibilities  to  the  tune  of  two  or  three  thousand  dollars, 
as  I  did  only  a  year  ago." 

"Well,  father,  you'll  do  it?" 

"  Will  I,  then  ?  Perhaps — for  I'm  too  indulgent  to  you  by  a 
long  shot,  and  have  been  ever  since  I  broke  your  head  with  that 
hickory — " 

"  Certainly,  a  decided  proof  of  your  indiilgence  I"  cried  Ned, 
"with  a  laugh. 

"  So  it  was,  for  you  deserved  to  have  not  only  your  head  but 
every  bone  in  your  body  broken ;  but  when,  in  my  passion  I 
knocked  you  down  and  your  blood  flooded  my  best  carpet,  I 
thought  I  had  killed  you, — as  if  it  were  possible  to  kill  such  a  fel- 
low by  any  hurt  done  to  the  head — and  since  then  a  proper  con- 
4  :> 


J^^ 


'»■»» 


>  88  THl   GOLDEN   0HBI8TMA8.  %^. 


^*j 


sideration  of  my  own  weight  of  arm  and  anger,  have  made  me  for- 
bear Utterly,  until  now  drubbing  would  do  you  no  Venice.  You 
are  ruined,  I  am  afraid,  for  any  future  use." 

"A  wife  will  cure  him,  Major;"  said  L 

**  And  perhaps  punish  him  more  effectually  than  anything  I 
can  do ;  and  I  shouldn't  object  provided  he  could  get  the  righ^ 
one.  But  there,  again,  he  is  not  disjx)scd  to  do  as  I  want  him. 
He  has  a  hankering  after  that  pretty  little  Frenchitied  huzzy, 
Paula  Bonneau,  and  thinks  I  don't  see — and  don't  suspect.  An- 
swer honestly  now,  Ned  Buhner,  is  it  not  true  what  I  say  ?" 

"  I  owTi  the  soft  impeachment,  sir ;"  was  the  quiet  response 
of  Ned,  lightiiig  a  fresh  cigar,  apd  reversing  the  position  of  his 
;j,^  crossed  legs. 

^-<^\  "  You  own — and  what  a  d d  mincing  phrase  is  that.     Do 

you  8U})poso  it  proper  because  it  is  taken  from  Shaksj)eare.  You 
own  it !  AVell,  sir,  and  why  do  you  suffer  yourself  to  hanker  after 
such  a  woman  as  that  ?  Not  a  woman  in  fact — a  mere  child — a 
,  doll — a  pretty  plaything — more  like  a  breast  pin  than  a  woman — 
a  very  pretty  cut  Italian  cameo,  sir ;  but  not  tit  for  a  wife.  What 
sort  of  children,  sir,  do  you  suppose  such  a  woman  can  bring  you  ? 
Such  as  will  do  credit  to  the  name  of  your  family — to  the  State — 
able  to  wield  a  broad-sword — able  to  command  respect  and  pro- 
side  with  state  and  dignity  in  a  parlour,  or  at  a  dinner  table  !  Be- 
sides, Ned,  she's  French,  and  we  are  English,  and  for  a  hundred 
yeai-s  there  has  been  an  antipathy  between  our  two  families  !" 

"High  time  to  heal  it,  father;"  said  Ned,  tlushed  and  firing  up. 
"Don't  speak  unkindly,  sir,  of  Paula  l^)nneau.  You  know,  sir,  it 
is  wrong — you  wrong  her  jls  a  lady,  young,  innocent,  intelligent, 
of  good  family,  and  very  beautiful.  You  wrong  youi-self  as  a  gen- 
tleman, l)oastful  of  family,  so  to  speak ; — and  you  know  it — and  feel 
it,  sir.  If  Paula  is  petite,  as  I  allow,  she  is  not  the  less  worthy  to 
be  the  wife  of  any  man,  nor  will  she  fail  to  command  respect  any 
where.    There's  no  lady  in  the  parish  of  better  manners,  more 


SUPPER   AKD    PniLOSOPIlT.  39 


di"-nified  and  amiable,  polished  and  unaffected.    As  for  these  old 
familv  antipathies  and  grudges,  I  do  think,  sir,  that  it's  a  disgrace 
to  common   sense  that   you   should  entertain   them.     "What  if 
she  lias  French  blood  in  her  veins  ?     So  have  half  the  English, 
and  the  best  half  too.     Your  Normans  >vho .conquered  England 
infused  into  it  all  the  vitality  that  made  the  race  great.     All  that 
their  descendants  have  of  the  noble  and  the  conquering  camo 
from  the  Norman  side  of  the  hoase.     The  Saxon  was  a  sullen  boor, 
whose  sole  virtue   Avas  his  dogged  bull-<log  tenacity.     But  the 
chivalry,  the  enterprise,  the   lofty  adventure,  and  the  superior 
t^stes,  were  borrowed  from  the  Normans.     Your  own  family,  sir 
was  originally  Norman,  and  you  yourself,  had  you  Hved  three  hun 
dred  yeai-s  ago,  might  have  been  ]>roud  of  your  French  tongue  at 
an  English  court.     The  fact  is,  sir,  you  too  much  underrate  our 
family,  its  antiquity  no  less  than  its  character,  in  dating  only  from 
the  prejudices  of  your  great-great-grandsirc  in  America.     It  was 
in  his  ignorance  of  his  own  origin  that  he  imbibed  those  prejudi- 
ces, and  from  his  personal  rivalries  with  old  Philip  Bonneau.     It 
happened  unfortunately  that  his  son  had  a  French  rival  in  Paul 
Banneau,  the  son  of  Philip  ;  and  his  son  again,  in  your  father 
found  an  antagonist  in  the  younger  Philip.     But  you,  sir,  have  no 
such  rival,  and  why  you  should,  discrediting  all  gallantry,  make  a 
woman,  a  girl,  the  object  of  your  antipathy,  simply  to  perpetuate 
the  silly  personal  prejudices  of  your  ancestors,  neither  justice,  nor 
generosity,  nor  common  sense,  can  well  see  I     I  protest,  sir,  it  is 
positively  a  reproach  to  your  manhood  that  you  should  thus  reli- 
giously maintain  an  antipathy,  when  its  object  is  a  sweet,  young, 
artless,  and  unoffending  woman  I"  ^ 

Tlie  Major  was  taken  all  aback. 

*'  Take  breath,  Ned,  take  breath, — or  let  me  breathe  a  little. 
Well,  sir,  have  you  done  ?" 

"Doner 


^         40  THE   GOLDEN   CHKISTMAS.  %>^ 


. ^ \ —        ^^.:» 

**  By  the  powers,  Dick  Cooper,  did  you  ever  hear  a  father  so 

be-rated  by  a  son !" 

"  Really,  sir,  he  proves  his  legitimacy  by  the  close  resemblance 
of  his  style  to  your  own." 

"  Good ! — and  now  Master  Edward  Bulmer  do  you  suppose  that 
I  would  not  gladly  welcome  any  man-antagonist  of  the  Bonneau 
family?" 

"Nobody  suspects  you  of  fear,  sir;  but  courage  in  the  encoun- 
ter with  an  armed  man,  and  an  equal,  is  not  the  sole  proof  of 
manliness.  The  courage,  sir,  which  is  just  and  magnanimous, 
and  which  shrinks  from  the  idea  of  wrong-doing,  as  from  death 
and  shame,  is  the  best  proof  that  one  can  give  of  a  true  nobility. 
How,  sir,  with  your  general  sense  of  what  is  right — >vith  your 
pride  and  sense  of  honour, — can  you  reconcile  it  to  yourself  to 
speak  sneeringly  aud  scornfully  of  such  a  pure,  sweet,  gentle  crea- 
ture as  Paula  Bonneau — one  who  has  never  wronged  you— one, 
too,  whom  you  know  to  be  the  object  of  the  most  earnest  attach- 
*  ment  of  your  son." 

The  Major  was  disquieted.  Ned  had  caught  him  tripping.  He 
knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe — put  fresh  tobacco  in — knocked 
that  out  also — then  stuck  the  empty  pipe  into  his  mouth,  and  be- 
gan drawing  and  puffing  vigorously.  Ned,  meanwhile,  had  risen, 
and  was  taking  long  strides  across  the  floor.  The  old  man,  at 
length,  recovered  his  tone.  He  felt  the  home  trutlis  which  he  had 
heard,  and  was  manly  enough  to  acknowledge  them.  He  sprang 
to  his  feet,  with  the  elasticity  of  a  boy  of  eighteen. 

"  Ned's  right,"  said  he  to  me,  "  after  all.  He's  rough,  but  he's 
right.  Ned,  my  son,  forgive  me.  I  have  wounded  you  more 
sorely  than  I  meant." 

His  arms  were  extended,  and  the  son  rushed  into  them.  For  a 
moment  the  Major  clasped  him  closely  to  his  bosom.  He  was 
proud  of  his  boy — his  only — he  knew  his  real  nobleness  of  charao- 


flstf- 


OUR   AFFAmS   BECOME    MUCH    COMPLICATED.  41 


ter,  and  he  felt  how  much  he  had  outraged  it  I  felt  my  eyes 
suffused  at  the  picture. 

"  You  are  right,  Ned ;  but  do  me  not  the  injustice  to  suppose 
that  I  meant  any  wrong  to  Paula  Bonneau.  She  is  a  good  girl,  I 
Tcrily  believe,  and  a  pretty  one,  I  am  willing  to  admit — but,  Ned, 
for  all  that,  look  you, — you  shall  never  marry  her  with  my  con- 
sent.    There — enough  1     Good  night,  boys." 

Thus  sajing,  the  Major  hurried  off,  evidently  anxious  to  avoid 
any  more  words. 

"  Something  gained,"  said  I. 

"  You  think  so  ?" 

"Decidedly." 

**  Yet,  you  heard  his  last  words  ?" 

"  It  doesn't  matter  1  With  a  magnanimous  nature,  the  convic- 
tion that  it  has  wantonly  done  a  wrong  to  another,  and  the  desire 
to  repair  it,  lead  always  one  or  more  steps  beyond.  I  should  not 
be  surprised  if  Paula  Bonneau  grows  into  favour  after  a  while." 

"  Heaven  grant  it ;  but  you  are  tired.     Let  us  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  VI.. 

OUR  AFFAIRS  BECOME  MUCH  COMPLICATED. 

Ned  Bulmer  was  too  eager  and  anxious  about  his  affaire  du 
cceur  to  give  me  much  respite.  His  buggy  was  at  the  door  soon 
after  breakfast  the  next  morning. 

"  Whither** — asked  the  Major  of  his  son, — "  whither  are  you 
going  to  carry  Richard  to-day  ?  Certainly,  there  is  nothing  so 
important  as  to  deny  him  one  day's  rest  when  he  gets  here." 

**  I  want  him  to  go  with  me  and  see  this  pla-ce  of  Gendron's 
I  am  wilhng  to  take  his  opinion  of  the  lands." 
4* 


42  THIS   OOIDEN   ORRISTMAfl.         ^.'^i       *'^* 

^^1^ 

**  Why,  what  the  deuce  can  a  lawj  er  know  of  lands  P 

"  I  shall  want  him,  possibly,  to  look  into  the  titles  and  draw  up 
the  papers.  And  as  he  is  something  of  a  surveyor,  he  can  help 
me  to  find  the  lines." 

Aunt  Janet  smiled  quietly  and  whispered  to  me — **  see  that  you 
do  not  trespass  upon  the  lauds  of  Madame  Girardin.'' 

I  saw  that  our  proceedings  were  no  mystery  to  her,  and  guessed 
that  she  was  not  unfriendly  to  Ned's  passion.  The  Major  growled 
meanwhile,  and,  at  length,  said — 

"  Don't  be  persuaded  any  where  at  present,  boys,  for  we  must 
get  up  a  hunt  to-morrow.  Bryce  tells  mo  that  there  w  a  fine  old 
buck  that  haunts  the  wood  down  by  the  Andrew's  bottom  field  ; 
he  saw  fresh  tracks  only  this  morning.  If  we  turn  out  early  to- 
morrow, we  can  start  him,  and,  perha|)s,  others.  At  all  events,  I 
am  for  tr}'ing.  We  will  sec  if  you  youngsters  can  draw  as  fine  a 
sight,  and  pull  as  quick  a  trigger,  as  the  old  man  of  sixty." 

We  promised,  and  the  impatient  Ned  scored,  with  a  flourish, 
the  brown  sides  of  his  bay,  sending  him  forward  at  a  fist  city  trot, 
which  took  us  to  Gendron's — about  five  miles — in  half  an  hour. 
Here  we  drew  up  and  went  into  the  hoiLse  wliich  was  in  charge  of 
the  overseer.  But  here  we  did  not  linger.  After  we  had  got  a 
draught  of  cold  water  and  had  a  little  chat  with  the  overseer,  Ned 
thrust  into  my  hands  a  moi-sel  of  a  billet  which  he  had  prepared 
before  we  left  "  the  Barony,"  wliich  had  no  address,  but  was  meant 
for  Paula. 

"  Take  the  buggy  and  boy,  old  follow,  and  >'isit  your  finend 
Madame  Agnes-Theresa.  It  is  a  mile  round  to  the  entrance,  but 
the  est'ites  join,  and — do  you  see  yonder  pine  woods  ?  They  are 
about  eight  hundred  yards  from  this  spot,  but  only  two  hundred 
from  the  house  at  Rougemout.  My  note  says  only  that  I  shall  be 
there,  and  if  you  can  entertain  the  old  lady,  so  that  the  young 
one  can  make  her  escape  unseen,  I  am  in  hopes  that  she  will  sufl'er 


OtJR   AFFAITIS    TIECOME    MUCH    COMPLICATED.  43 


me  to  entortain  her  there  for  a  Reason.  Only  keep  the  grand- 
mother quiet  for  a  good  half  hour." 

I  was  successful ;  being  so  fortunate  as  to  find  Paula  alone  in 
the  drawing-room.  I  gave  her  the  note,  which  she  was  able  to 
read  and  conceal  from  the  grandmother.  I  found  the  old  lady  in 
the  best  of  humours,  quite  satisfied  with  her  own  purchases  in  the 
city,  and  particularly  pleased  with  those  which  I  had  selected  for 
her.  U]>on  the  raisins,  crushed  sugar,  and  almonds,  she  was  espe- 
cially eloquent,  and  was  graciously  pleased  to  assure  me — to  my 
horror — that  hereafter  she  should  employ  mo  to  make  all  her  pur- 
chases of  this  nature.  My  judgment  was  so  highly  extolled  in 
this  matter,  that  I  trembled  lest  she  should  conclude  by  proposing 
to  invest  a  fmv  thousands,  and  to 'go  into  the  grocery  business 
with  me.  While  she  talked,  Paula  disappeared.  Of  course,  I 
encouraged  the  eloquence  of  the  grandmother.  I  knew  the  topics 
to  provoke  it ;  but  the  reader  has  already  liad  a  sufficient  sample 
of  them,  and  I  will  not  require  him  to  partake  of  my  annoyances. 
I  was  patient,  and  held  on  for  nearly  an  hour,  until  the  sweet  face 
of  pretty  Paula  once  more  lightened  the  parlour.  Of  course,  I 
had  something  to  say  to  her,  interrupted,  however,  by  the  grand- 
mother, who  shaq^ly  rebuked  her  for  leaving  me  during  the  whole 
time  of  my  visit.  Paula  looked  to  me  with  the  sweetest  gravity 
in  the  world,  and  made  the  most  gracefully  evasive  apology,  which 
I  perfectly  understood,  though  it  was  by  no  means  satisfactory  to 
Madame  Girardin.  Invitations  from  both  of  them,  to  renew  my 
%isit,  dine,  and  spend  the  day,  were  gratefully  jicknowledged,  and, 
shaking  affectionate  hands,  I  took  my  departure. 

I  found  Ned  Bulmer  rather  under  a  cloud.  The  interview  be- 
tween himself  and  Paula,  under  those  famous  and  friendly  pines, 
had  not  been  quite  satisfactory  to  his  ardent  and  impetuous  nature. 
Paula  entertained  some  natural  feminine  scruples  at  an  intercourse 
not  only  secretly  carried  on,  but  notoriously  against  the  desires  of 


•^ 


^li^" 


■H; 


44  THE    GOLDEN    OHRISTMAfi,         '  Ji 


* '.  .fee- 


both  tlieir  parents.    The  little  creature  had  shown  lierself  quite 
chary  and  somewhat  sad. 

"  I  urged  upon  her  "  said  Ned,  "  all  that  I  could  in  the  way  of 
argument  to  convince  her  that  there  was  a  natural  limit  to  parental 
rights — that  parents  had  no  right  to  oppose  their  own  mere  anti- 
pathies to  the  sympathies  of  others — that,  to  indulge  these  anti- 
pathies at  the  expense  of  our  affections,  was  a  gross  and  unfeeling 
injustice — that  the  right  of  the  parent  simply  consisted  in  being 
assured  of  the  morals  and  the  character  of  the  parties  concerned — 
perhaps,  to  see,  farther,  that  the  means  of  life  were  at  their  com- 
mand. Beyond  thia,  I  contended,  that  any  attempt  at  authority 
was  usurpation.  I  urged  upon  her,  in  the  event  of  our  parents 
continuing  to  refuse,  that  we  sKould  marry  without  regard  to  their 
objections.  To  this,  the  dear  girl  positively  objected,  lliis  roused 
me  a  little,  and  I  showed  some  temper.  Then  she  wei)t  bitterly 
and  called  me  unkind, — and  I — would  you  believe  it,  Dick,  I  wept 
too, — I  suppose  for  sympathy,  and  then  she  was  more  distressed 
than  ever.  The  tears  of  a  man,  to  a  woman,  are  certainly  very 
awful,  or  very  ridiculous.  They  either  show  great  ^weakness,  or 
great  suffering.  Certainly,  when  Paula  saw  the  drops  on  my 
cheek  she  was  positively  tenified.  But,  she  was  firm  still.  She 
would  consent  to  nothing.     Dick, — I  half  doubt  if  she  loves  me." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  you  are  unreasonable.  I  don't  see  what  more 
you  could  require.  She  gives  you  the  highest  proof  of  love  she 
can, — and  you  expect  her  to  tear  herself  away,  in  defiance,  from 
her  only  kinswoman — she  who  has  trained  her,  protected  her,  been 
to  her  a  mother.  Nonsense !  you  are  too  fivst !  Patience,  we 
must  work  upon  the  rock  with  vfater.  Time  !  time,  man  !  That 
is  all  that  you  want.  The  game  is  more  than  half  won  when  the 
laay  herself  Is  willing." 

"  But,  I  see  no  progress." 

"  That  is  because  you  only  see  through  the  medium  of  your 
Impatient  desires.     Time,  I  say  !  That  is  what  you  require." 


OUR    AFFAIRS    BECOME    MUCH    COMPLICATED.  45 


We  looked  about  tho  Gendron  plantation  of  course,  which  Ned 
"was  really  disposed  to  buy,  and  I  gave  my  opinion  in  concurrence 
"with  his.     This  task  done,  we  drove  to  tho  "  Barony,"  and  got  in 
in  good  time  for  dinner.     There  were  several  guests,  several  old 
friends,  parishioners,  and  a  couple  of  strangers.    The  dining-saloon 
was  a  large  one,  and  a  noble  board  was  spread.     The  supplies  of 
such  a  board  in  the  South  need  no  recital.     But  I  may  mention 
that  Major  Bulmer  was  famous  for  his  muttons,  and  he  had  a 
choice  specimen  on  table.     The  ^f  adeira  of  rare  old  vintage  circu- 
lated freely,  and  there  was  no  deficiency  in  the  dessert.     When 
the  ladies  had  retired,  and  we  had  finished  a  bumper  or  two,  we 
adjourned  to  the  libraiy,  where  we  rather  drowsed  and  dawdled 
away  the  remnant  of  the  afternoon  than  conversed.     We  did  not 
return  to  the  supper  table,  but  coffee  was  brought  in  to  us  where 
we  sate,  and  after  a  while  the  guests  departed,  leaNing  me  pledged 
to  several  houses  in  the  neighbourhood,  for  dinner  in  some,  and 
lodging  and  a  long  visit  in  others.     When  they  were  all  gone,  tho 
Major  brought  up  the  subject  of  the  Gendron  estate. 
"  Well,  what  think  you  of  the  tract  ?" — this  to  me. 
"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  uncleared  land,  pretty  heavily  tim- 
bered." 

"  Only  five  or  six  hundred  acres,  I  think." 
"  But  oak  and  hickory." 

"  Yes ;  but  not  remarkable.   Light,  Dick,  very  light,  and  sandy." 
"  Better  than  you  think  for.     There  is  also  some  good  pine  land 
too." 

"  Not  much  I  fancy.  You,  perhaps,  confounded  with  it  that  of 
the  old  French  woman,  Girardin,  alongside  of  it.  By  the  way, 
did  you  think  to  go  and  see  her.  She  is  an  old  friend  of  your 
family,  at  least,  and  very  exacting.  If  you  did  not  call  upon  her, 
and  she  hears  of  you  in  the  neighbourhood,  you  are  out  of  her 
books  forever." 

^  I  did  call*    I  left  Ned  at  G^ndron^s,  and  went  over  and  saw 


46  THE   GOLDEN  ^iJ^RISTMAS.       ^    ^ 

-  -t  ^'  *^ 

the  ladies.  Madame  Girardin  and  myself  confabulated  for  an  tour. 
I  «aw  her  in  the  city,  and  have  fortunately  found  favour  in  her 
sight  by  a  successful  selection  of  groceries,  I  so  pleased  her,  that, 
to  my  horror,  she  assures  me  I  shall  always  be  permitted  to  choose 
her  groceries, — the  sugars,  raisius,  citron,  almonds,  &c.,  in  parti- 
cular." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Wliat  a  creature  !  Yet  she  has  some  good 
points.  She  is  a  ftist  friend,  and  hates  like  the  devil !  And  I  call 
these  the  inevitable  companion-virtues,  as  clearly  indispensable  to 
each  other  as  good  and  evil  in  the  world.  AVhat  a  bunch  of  pre- 
judices she  is,  tied  up  like  a  bundle  of  vipers  in  a  hole  throughout 
the  winter.     I  l>elieve  she  hates  every  thing  English." 

I  smiled  in  my  sleeve,  and  was  about  to  add, — "  as  you  hate 
every  thing  French," — but  in  truth,  Major  13ulnier's  prejudices  did 
not  amount  to  hates.  There  wius  really  no  passion  in  them  at  all. 
He  had  simply  imbibed  certain  habits  of  speeeli, — perhaj»s  certmn 
prescriptive  thoughts — nay,  notions  would  l»e  the  better  word — and 
simply  stuck  to  them  as  persons  of  insulated  life  will  naturally  do, 
wanting  that  attrition  of  intellectual  society  which  rubs  otT  sali- 
ent angles,  and  deforming  protuberances.  It  struck  me,  however, 
while  thinking  thus  indulgently  of  the  Major's  prejudices,  that  it 
might  l>e  no  bad  j)olicy  to  show  up  those  of  Madame  CJirardin  in 
their  true  coloui-s.  His  dislike  of  her  would  perhaps  enable  him 
to  see  how  equally  loathsome  and  ridiculous  Is  the  indulgence  of 
a  blind,  insane  hostility  to  things  and  persons  of  whom,  and  which, 
we  really  know  no  evil.  Accordingly,  I  was  at  })ains  to  report  the 
conversation  which  was  liad  between  the  old  lady  and  myself  in 
our  shopping  expedition,  in  which  she  emptied  so  freely  her  bag 
of  gall  upon  trade  and  tradesmen,  parvenus  and  clever  peoi)le.  I 
did  not  spare  her,  you  may  be  sure,  an<l  n)ade  the  jK)rtrait  as  fan- 
tastically true  as  possible.  The  Major  laughed  and  clapjied  his 
hands  delightedly. 

*'  What  an  atrocious  old  monster.     Who  ever  heiifd  the  like  ? 


OUR   AFFAIRS    BECOME    MUCH    COMPLICATED.  47 


To  think  favourably  of  such  a  mcauspiritcd,  unpcrforming,  snivell- 
ing creature  as  — — ,  to  think  indulp^cntly  even  of  fiuch  a  base 
fardel  of  inanities,  seetns  to  me  an  equal  outrage  upon  decency  and 
common  sense  ;  but  to  denounce  commerce,  Avhich  has  made 
England  queen  of  the  seas,  mistress  of  the  destinies  of  nations, 
■which  carries  civilization  and  art  wherever  it  goes,  \vhich  stirs  up 
and  inspirits  intellect,  endows  the  animal  vrith  soul,  and  informs 
the  cla}-  with  energy  and  action.  What  a  diabolical  old  fool. 
But  she  hates  commerce  because  it  is  so  thoroughly  English  1 
That's  it !  And  yet  to  think  that  Ned  Bulmer  is  really  anxious  to 
marrv'  into  vSuch  a  family,  so  blind,  ignorant,  conceited,  and  bitterly 
prejudiced.  It  can't  be  but  that  the  granddaughter  shares  in  all 
the  f(X)lish  notions  of  the  grandmother.  She  has  been  trained  up 
in  the  same  school.  She  thinks  and  feels  j)recisely  as  the  old  wo- 
man does.  That  n  son  should  desire  to  wed  a  woman  who  hated 
and  despises  the  very  race  to  which  liis  father  owes  liis  origin  1" 

I  must  here  advise  the  reader  that  this  was  said  after  Ned  Bul- 
njcr  ha<l  left  us  for  the  night,  and  when  the  >[ajor  and  myself  were 
lingering  over  our  cigars,  and  a  hot  vessel  of  whiskey  punch.  Ned 
had  disaj>pcarcd  purjxwely,  in  order  that  I  might  have  every -op- 
portunity of  subduing,  if  that  were  jx)ssible,  the  asperities  and  ob- 
jections of  the  old  man. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Mnjor,"  said  I,  in  reply,  "  in  your  opinion 
of  Paula  Bonneau.  She  shares  in  none  of  the  prejudices  of  her 
grandmotlier,  which  she  properly  regards  as  most  unhappy  weak- 
nesses. She  is,  herself,  as  liberal  and  intelligent  a  young  woman 
as  you  will  find  in  the  country,  noways  arrogant  or  presumptuous, 
noways  conceited  or  bigoted,  and  I  believe  quite  as  much  an  admi- 
rer of  the  English  as  of  the  Iluguenot  stock.  Nay,  the  very  favour 
with  which  she  regards  Ned  seems  to  me  quite  conclusive  on  this 
point" 

"  Favour  with  which  she  regards  Ned  r  exclaimed  the  ^lajor. 
"  "Why  you  don't  mean  to  saj  it  has  got  to  that  ?    You  don't  mean 


r 


f 


n' 


46  THE   OOLDEK   0BBI8TlLi8.    • 


to  tell  me  that  they  have  already  come  to  an  understanding — that 

Ned  has  been  so  d d  precipitate  as  to  propose,  knowing  my 

objections,  and — " 

Here  he  started  to  his  feet,  clapt  his  doubled  fists  into  his  ribe, 
and  stood,  arms  akimbo,  confronting  me  as  if  prepared  for  a  regular 
engagement.  1  saw  that  I  had  been  guilty  of  a  lapse — had  gone 
a  step  too  far — and  must  recover. 

"  By  no  means,"  I  answered  with  laborious  coolness  and  delibe- 
ration, stirring  my  whiskey  punch  and  blowing  oflf  the  smoke. 
"That  Paula  favoured  Ned  is  only  a  natural  conclusion  from  her 
demeanour  when  they  meet,  and  from  tlie  manner  in  which  she 
speaks  of  him  and  of  yourself.  She  looki  as  if  she  might  love 
him,  and  speaks  very  kindly  to  and  of  him." 

"  Oh  that  is  all,  is  it !  and  well  she  may  love  him,  and  perfectly 
natural  that  she  should  dosire  him  for  a  husband,  for  a  better  fel- 
low and  a  better  looking  fellow — though  his  own  father  I  make 
bold  to  say  it, — is  nowhere  to  be  found  between  the  Santee  and 
the  Savannah.  And  she,  too,  is  a  clever  girl  enough,  in  her  way, 
I  do  not  doubt.  I  don't  deny  that  she  is  pretty,  and  people 
every  where  say  tliat  she  is  amiable  and  intelligent ;  but  neverthe- 
less she  is  not  the  girl  for  Ned.     She  is  too small,  Dick ; 

thf  t  is  one  objection." 

"  Kuther  a  recommendation,  I  should  suppose,  if,  according  to 
the  proverb,  a  wife  is,  at  best,  a  necessary  evil." 

"What!  of  evils  choose  the  leiist.  But  the  smartness  of  the 
saying  don't  prove  the  philosophy  to  be  good.  Still,  the  objection 
of  size  might  be  overcome,  if  there  were  others  not  also  insupera- 
blu.     Tlierti'ii  cmr  fmully  prejudieo,  Diek,  nj^uinnttho  rnrc." 

"  Certainly — that  objection  could  not  be  more  impressively 
urged  than  by  Madame  Girardin,  speaking  of  the  English !" 

"  Confound  her  impudence.  But  there's  no  sense,  Dick,  in 
that.  Iler  prejudices  against  the  English,  indeed  !  What  an  old 
fool.     Prejudices  against  the  noblent  people  that  God  ever  crea- 


4 


OCR  AFFAIRS   BECOME    MUCH   COMPLICATED.  49 


^, 


ted,  and  whom  he  created  to  be  the  toasters  of  the  world, — the 
true  successors  to  the  Romans." 

"  That's  just  what  she  thinks  of  the  French." 

"  Pshaw !  the  stubborn  old  dolt  Dont  bring  her  up  to  toe, 
Dick  Cooper.  The  antipathy  of  the  English  to  the  French  is 
based  upon  reason  and  experience.  That  of  the  French  to  the 
English  is  the  natural  result  of  fear  and  hatred,  as  the  whipt  dog 
dreads  the  scourge  that  has  made  him  writhe  and  tremble.  But, 
putting  all  this  matter  aside,  Dick,  there  is  still  a  better  reason  for 
my  opposition  to  this  passion  of  my  son.  The  truth  is, — and,  for 
the  present,  this  must  be  a  secret  between  us, — I  have  already 
chosen  a  wife  for  Ned — " 

"  The  d 1  you  have  1"  I  exclaimed,  starting  up  in  my  tunii 

"  No  I  But  an  angel  I  have ;  one  of  the  most  lovely  creatures 
in  the  world — the  very  ideal  of  feminine  beauty — a  noble  person, 
an  exquisite  skin,  the  sweetest  and  most  brilliant  eyes,  lips  that 
would  make  the  mouth  of  a  saint  to  water,  and  persuade  an  an- 
chorite perpetually  to  sip, — and, — but  enough,  llie  woman  upon 
whom  I  have  set  my  eyes  for  Ned  is,  I  hold,  the  perfection  of 
woman !" 

"  And  pray  who  is  she  ?"  I  demanded,  somewhat  curious  to 
know  who  could  have  inspired  the  Major  with  such  raptures. 

"  Who !  Can  you  doubt  Why,  man,  Beatrice  Mazyck,  to  be 
sure !" 

It  was  my  turn  to  be  confounded.  Beatrice  Mazyck !  I  tvae 
staggered.  You  could  have  felled  me  with  a  feather.  Beatrice 
Maz}'ck  I  My  heart  whirled  about  like  the  wheels  of  a  locomo- 
tive.    Beatrice  Mazyck !     What,  the  d 1,  thought  I,  can  the 

Fates  be  about  ?  What  do  they  design  ?  What  should  put  this 
notion  into  Major  Bulmer^s  head,  for  my  particular  disquiet — per- 
haps defeat  and  disappointment  His  wealth,  his  rank  in  the 
parish,  his  son's  personal  claims, — all  rushed  through  my  brain  in 


50  THE    OCLDKN    CBRI8T1IA8. 


a  moment,  filling  me  with  terror,  and  seeming  conduaive  of  my 
own  fate.     I  showed  my  consternation  in  my  face. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Dick, — you  seem  flurried  ?** 

"  Notliing,  I  thank  you.  Major ;  only  I  fancy  this  whiskey  punch 
U  a  triflw  iuo  nirou^  for  my  brain." 

"  Too  strong  !  Too  weak  rather  1  Why,  man,  when  I  was  of 
your  age,  we  made  no  mouths  at  a  pint  of  such  Hquor  as  that 
A  liquor  which  would  laugh  to  shame  all  the  nectar  that  the 
Greek  gods  stored  away  in  their  Olympian  cellars.  But  the 
young  men  of  this  day  are  more  milksops.  They  ha^e  no  heads — 
I  may  add  no  hearts  also — such  as  thoy  had  when  I  was  a  boy. 
But  what  say  you  to  Beatrice  Mazyck  ?  Don't  you  approve  of 
my  choice  ?" 

The  speech  of  the  Major  on  the  days  of  his  youth,  the  strong 
heads  and  better  hearts  which  they  tlien  enjoyed,  afforded  me  time 
to  recover  from  my  conwt<.'rnatioii..  I  folt  that  it  Has  necessary  for 
me  to  clothe  myself  in  all  my  stoicism  and  meet  the  danger  with 
becoming  fortitude.     I  succeeded  in  the  etfort,  and  said — 

*'  But,  Major,  how  do  you  reconcile  ii  to  your  EnffUsh  prejudices 
to  think  of  Bt'jitnce. '    Sho's  aw  much  French  a«  Puulu  1" 

"Hem- 1 — yon! — not  exactly.  She  has  French  blood  in  her 
veins,  I  grant  you.  But  she  is  decidedly  nut  French.  The  Fug- 
lish  predominates.  Look  at  her  figure.  How  thoroughly  Eng- 
lish. What  a  noble  stature — what  a  fine  bust — how  well  devel- 
oped everywhere — then  her  face  is  Saxon — her  skin  fair,  her  eyes 
blue,  her  hair  auburn — English  all  over  1" 

1  laughed,  in  spite  of  my  disquiet,  ut  the  ease  with  which  preju- 
dices may  be  overcome,  when  there's  a  will  for  it. 

*"  You  have  reasoned  yourself  very  happily  into  a  new  convic- 
tion, Major." 

"  Well,  sir,  and  how  should  a  man  acquire  new  convictions,  but 
through  his  reason.  I  claim  to  be  a  reasoniiig  animal.  Now, 
what  objection  liave  you  to  Beatrice  Mazyck  T' 


^■ 


OUR   AFFAIRS   BECOME    MUCH    COMPLICATED.  61 


"  For  myself,  none  ;  but  for  Ned — " 

"  Well,  sir,  for  Ned  ?  What  objections  do  you  make  to  her  as 
a  wife  for  Ned  ?" 

"  First,  then,  I  fancy  ho  does  not  desire  her." 

"  He's  a  fool,  then,  for  his  pains — but  he  will  desire  her,  if  his 
eyes  can  be  reasonably  opened.  And  you,  my  dear  Dick,  must 
assist  me  in  becoming  his  occulist." 

"  Me,  sir  !-^me,  Major  1" 

"  Yes,  you  1  Why  not !  Why  do  you  look  so  amazed  at  the 
suggestion  ?  You  are  the  very  man  to  do  it !  You  are  Ned's  friend — 
his  confidant,  his  counsellor, — I  may  say  his  oracle.  Give  me 
your  assistance,  and  we  shall  soon  contrive  to  persuade  him  that 
Beatrice  is  worth  a  hundred  of  his  little  French  Paula." 

"  But,  Major,  suppose  Beatrice  should  not  altogether  favour  the 
arrangement.     What  docs  she  say  about  it  ?" 

"  She  will  favour  it,  I'm  sure.  Ned's  not  the  fellow  to  sue  for  a 
lady's  smiles  in  vain." 

"  Do  you  build  solely  on  this.  Has  Beatrice  been  sounded  on 
the  subject  ?" 

"  Not  yet,  but  she  will  be.     Her  mother  favours  it" 

"  Ah  ! — well,  sir ; — I  am  not  sure  that  I  can,  for  two  reasons  at 
least." 

"  Indeed  ! — well  I — wrhat  are  they."  ' 

"  Firstly,  m  I  said  before,  I'm  pretty  certain  that  Ned  will  never 
consent  to  sul)atituto  Paula  for  Beatrice.  Ho  will  never  love  Bea- 
trice.    Secondly,  my  dear  Major,  I  want  Ikatrice  for  myself." 

"  The  devil  you  do  1"  exclaimed  the  Major  aghast,  starting  to 
his  feet,  and  seizing  me  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Richard  Cooper,— do  you  really  mean  it  ? — are  you  ii>  earn- 
est" 

"  As  a  prophet,  sir." 

**  You  love  Beatrice  Mazyck  ?" 


52  THE   GOLDEN   0HKISTMA8. 


"  From  the  bottom  of  iny  heart    I  have  loved  her  for  two 
years." 

"  And  she  ?"— 

"  I  have  never  approached  her  on  the  subject,  sir." 

"  Then  you  are  both  uncomnaitted  ?" 
. .  "  Entirely — ^to  each  other." 

**  But  has  any  thing  served  to  encourage  you,  Dick  ?" 

"  Nothing,  sir,  which  a  merely  reasonable  man  would  construe 
into  a  hope.  I  have  sometimes  fancied  that  she  was  not  indiffer- 
ent to  me,  and  I  have  perhaps  estimated  her  looks  and  words  as 
significant  of  more  than  I  could  define  or  assert.  But,  beyond 
this,  which  may  be  wholly  in  my  imagination,  I  have  nothing  upon 
which  to  found  a  hope." 

"  But,  Dick,  even  did  she  favour  you,  are  you  in  a  condition  to 
marry  ?     She  is  not  rich,  you  know,  and  you — ^" 

"  Less  60 !  But  that.  Major,  is  a  sufficient  reason  why  we 
should  both  assert  our  independence.  Poverty  must  not  always 
stand  upon  ceremony.  But,  I  frankly  tell  you,  Major,  were  Bea- 
trice willing,  I  should  fearlessly  venture  upon  matrimony  with  all 
its  perils  and  expense  I" 

The  old  man  strode  the  room  with  cloudy  forehead  and  irregu- 
lar motion.  I,  meanwhile,  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  and  suffered  my 
head  to  subside  heavily  between  my  shoulders,  while  I  gazed  into 
the  fire  sullenly,  Ijrooding  upon  newly  aroased  anxieties.  After  a 
while,  the  Major  stopt  in  his  walk,  and  confronted  me : 

"  Dick,  my  boy,  this  is  devilish  unfortunate.  You  know  my 
friendship  for  you,  Dick, — my  love  for  you,  in  fact, — for,  in  truth, 
I  feel  for  you,  next  to  my  own  boy,  as  if  you  were  my  own  son. 
You  rank  next  after  him.  I  loved  your  father, — we  were  bosom 
friends,  and  stood  beside  each  other  in  many  a  fight  and  frolic, 
even  as  you  and  Ned  would,  I  am  sure,  stand  up  for  each  other. 
I  would  do  a  great  deal  for  you,  Dick,  xuid  should  be  glad  to  see 
you  happy  with  the  woman  that  you  love ;  but  Dick,  my  heart  is 


^^ 


OUR   AFFAIRS   BECOME    MUCH    COMPLICATED.  63 


set  upon  this  marriage  between  Beatrice  and  Ned.  I  must  do  all 
I  can  to  promote  it.  I  can  think  of  no  other  woman  for  him,  and, 
in  fact,  have  committed  myself  to  her  mother.  But,  Dick,  it  shall 
be  fair  ]>lay  between  us.  All  shall  bo  open  and  above  board.  You 
will  say  nothing  to  Ned  of  my  present  objects,  as  I  can  now  not 
hope  that  you  will  say  any  thing  in  their  favour ;  but  I  give  you 
notice,  my  boy,  that  I  shall  now  go  to  work  in  earnest.  What  you 
have  so  frankly  told  me  compels  me  to  anticipate  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, and  to  urge,  as  rapidly  as  I  can,  an  affair  about  which  I  had 
meant  to  be  deliberate.  You,  meanwhile,  will  do  your  best,  and  if 
you  can  v^-in  the  girl,  in  spite  of  all  that  I  can  do  for  Ned,  then  it 
will  prove  that  she  is  the  proper  person  for  you ;  and  your  success 
shall  be  as  satisfactory  to  me  as  to  yourself.  Nay,  further,  Dick,  if 
money  can  help  you  to  a  start  in  the  world  with  Beatrice,  you 
shall  have  it.  I  can  spare  to  you,  without  making  bare  myself, 
and  Ned,  I'm  sure,  will  do  his  part.  Do  your  devoir,  therefore,  my 
boy,  with  all  your  skill  and  spirit,  as  I  am  in  honour  bound  to  do 
mine,  and,  as  the  old  judges  cried  out  in  the  courts  of  chivalry, 
'  God  defend  the  rijjht !'  What's  the  old  Norman  French  of  it  ? 
But,  d — n  the  French  of  it  I  The  English  is  good  enough  for  my 
purpose  !  Go  ahead  bravely, — there  shall  be  no  want  of  money, 
Dick,  for  your  progress,  and  we  shall  both  equally  acknowledge 
that  vital  maxim  to  which  our  English  ancestors  owe,  perhaps, 
nine-tenths  of  their  successes — '  fair  play  !'  " 

The  old  man  seized  my  hand,  and  shook  it  with  a  sternly  sincere 
emphasis.  I  answered  the  grasp  with  like  fervour,  but  I  could  say 
nothing.  I  was  very  deeply  touched  wth  his  nobleness  and 
generosity.  Certainly,  with  all  his  prejudices,  the  Major  is  one  of 
the  most  noble  specimens  of  modem  manhood. 

"  And  now,  Dick,"  said  he,  "  to  bed.  Finish  your  punch,  and 
we'll  be  off.  We  must  rise  by  daylight  for  the  hunt  to-morrow, 
*  This  day  a  deer  must  die  ?  " 

And  he  went  off  humming  the  ballad. 
6* 


'•■'*•■  -'J- 


54  THB   OOLBBK   CHRISTMAS 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Bucks  have  at  ye  a\\."^Old  Song. 

At  dawn  the  horns  were  sounding,  and  the  beagles  yelling  all 
around  the  premises.     Major  Bulmer  had  a  noble  pack  of  hounds, 
thirty  in  number.     This  was  one  of  his  weakness^ — he  was  ambi- 
tious of  keef»ing  up  the  old  practice  of  his  grandfather, — to  say 
nothing  of  his  English  authorities, — although  circumstances  had 
quite  changed.     Ours  are  no  longer  the  vast  forests  that  they  were 
prior  to  '76.     The  swamps   are  no  longer  inaccessible,  and  the 
population,  greatly  increased,  give  the  deer  no  respite.     According-       j 
ly,  they  are  terribly  thinned  off,  and  it  is  quite  an  event  when  an       i 
overseer  or  driver  can  say  to  the  planter,  "  there's  an  old  buck      j 
about," — or,   "  there's  tracks  of  deor  in  the  peaiield."     AMiat  a      | 
blowing  of  horns  follows  such  an  annunciation  !     What  a  chorus       t 
of  dogs  !     What  a  mustering  of  Mantons  and  full-bloods.     There      | 
is  no  slumbering  thence,  for  the  household,  till  we  have  "  got  the      | 
meat  1"     "This  day  ^  deer  must  die  !"  cried  Ned  Bulmer,  booming      I 
into  my  room  before  the  sun  had  fairly  rubbed  his  eyes  for  a  rising,      ;;! 
echoing  the  burthen  which  had  sounded  la«t  in  my  eai-s,  when  I      "^ 
lay  down  to  sleep.     I  was  upon  my  feet  in  the  twinkling  of  mi  eye, 
for,  though  a  bookworm  of  late,  and  a  c'lty  lawyer,  I  had  been  once 
a  famous  fellow  ibr  the  cluise,  was  a  free  rider,  a  good  shot,  and 
altogether  a  good  deal  cf  a  hunter.     It  had  been  a  pjt<sion  with 
me  once,  but — what  has  poverty  to  do  with  passion  !     Mine  seem- 
ed bent  equally|to  interfere  whli  me  in  my  pursuit  of  deer  and      i 
dear.     I  thought  of  Beatrice,  and  the  last  night's  conversation      ^ 
with  tlie  Major,  the  moment  I  oj^ened  my  eyes  ;  and  I  confess  I      5 
looked  at  Ned  Bulmer,  born  to  fortune  and  having  it  forced  ujx)n 
him,  as  it  were,  with  a  momentary  feeling  of  envy.     Thanks  to      - 
the  Virgin,  I  soon  dismissed  the  despicable  feeling  with  scorn. 


I 


BUCKS,   HAVE    AT   TE    ALL."  55 


Tlie  frnnk,  noblo  features  of  my  friend,  in  -which  every  necret  feel- 
ing of  his  soul  was  declared,  soon  set  mine  to  rights  ;  and  I  paid  to 
myself — "  Be  it  so !  At  all  events,  Beatrice,  whether  yon  get  Ned 
Buhner  or  myself,  yon  will  be  equally  fortunate  in  the  possession 
of  one  of  the  best  fellows  in  the  world."  It  might  have  made 
Ned  blush  had  I  repeated  this  compliment  in  his  ears,  so  I  pru- 
dently kept  it  to  myself,  satisfied  that  there  was  no  sort  of  necessi- 
ty for  my  own  blushes. 

Adonization  is  not  a  difficult  process  with  the  hunter,  when 
the  dogs  are  at  the  overture.  I  had  soon  made  my  toilet.  Our 
guns  had  been  put  in  order  the  night  before.  By  candlelight  we 
now  loaded  them.  Then  followed  a  bowl  of  coffee  all  round,  and 
the  horn  of  the  old  Major  sounded  for  the  start.  We  were  soon 
otf  at  an  easy  pace,  having  about  two  miles  to  ride  before  we  reach- 
ed the  stands.  These  were  well  known  places,  gaps  and  openings, 
by  certain  favourite  runs  of  water,  or  crossing  j^laces  from  wood  to 
wood.  The  simple  secret  of  a  hunter's  stand,  is  to  find  out  the 
avenues  which  the  deer  lays  out  for  himself.  All  animals  are 
creatures  of  habit^  and,  unless  under  good  and  sufficient  reasons, 
the  herd  usually  adheres  to  its  ordinary  pathways.  But  these,  in 
a  ver}'^  large  tract  of  forest,  are  apt  to  be  numerous,  and  to  require 
a  large  number  of  hunters.  Our  present  drives,  however,  were 
small  onop,  and  soon  covered.  There  were  no  hunters  in  our  pres- 
ent party,  but  the  Major,  Ned,  myself,  and  the  overseer,  a  spright- 
ly and  intelligent  young  fellow  named  Benbow.  In  all  probability 
the  name  was  that  originally  of  an  old  English  archer,  and  was 
comiptcd  and  contracted  from  Jack,  or  Dick,  Bend  the  Bow,  to  its 
present  narrow  and  unimpressive  hmits  of  two  syllables  short.  We 
had  all  of  us  stands,  each  watching  his  avenue.  Sam,  the  negro 
driver,  put  in  with  the  dogs,  some  three  quarters  of  a  mile  above 
us,  eating  his  way  through  all  the  denser  coppices  of  a  thick  mixe<i 
wood  of  scrubby  oak  and  piue,  having  a  close  underbrush,  and 
sundry  good  feeding  places,  from  which  the  fire,  was  carefully  kept 


50  THB    OOLDKX   CHRISTMAS.  S^ 


out     But  I  must  not  linger  on  these  details.     Every  body  nearly 
knows  what  is  the  usual  deer  hunting  among  the  gentry  of  the 
Soutn.     There  is  Utile  about  it  that  is  coinplicated  ;  its  success  de- 
pending upon  a  knowledge  of  the  drives,  the  stands,  a  cool  head, 
quick  eye,  sure  shot,  and  occasionally  a  keen  spur  to»the  fianks  of 
a  smoking  courser ;  for  it  is  no  ^maW  accomplishment  to  know 
how  to  head  a  deer,  and  to  succeed,  by  a  swift  circuit,  in  doing  it. 
Let  it  suffice  that  we  had  not  long  to  wait.     The  dogs  soon  gave 
tongue — the  cries  thickened — anon  I  heard  a  shot  from  the  Major, 
who  was  just  above  me,  and  a  few  moments  after,  head  forward, 
tail  up,  streaking  away  for  dear  (deer)  life,  at  about  eighty  yards 
to  the  left,  I  got  a  ghmpse  ©f  the  victim,  a  buck  in  full  feather,  i.  e. 
with  a  noble  pair  of  branches.     It  wiis  instinct  purely — a  word 
and  a  blow,  and  the  blow  tii-st.     I  poi)t  away  at  him,  and  saw  him 
describe  a  short  turn,  setting  his  head  in  the  op}x>sito  direction.     I 
concluded  he  had  got  it,  but  could  not  afford  a  second  glance,  as  I 
caught  sight  of  a  couj>le  of  does   following  steadily  his  course, 
though  a  little  nearer  to  me  than  he  had  been  when  I  first  shot, 
and  almost  in  the  same  line.     I  had  another  barrel,  and  bestowed 
it  successfully.     Down  dropt  one  of  the  brown  beauties,  and  I 
sounded.     The  d  >gs,   meanwhile,  began  to  glimmer,  on  full  foot, 
through  the  leaves.     My  hoi-se  was  hitched  twenty  feet  behind 
me.     It  took  but  a  nnnute  to  unhitch  and  cross  him,  and  I  pushed 
for  my  victims.     In  a  few  momenta  the  M'^.jor  came  dashing  up, 
hke  a  fiery  boy  of  eighteen,  shouting  out — 

*'  Well,  Dick,  what's  the  sport.  I  fancy  you've  wasted  lead,  for 
I  gave  it  to  the  old  buck  that  passed  you,  and  I  never  miss.  But 
you  emptied  both  barrels." 

"  Here's  one  of  my  birds,"  I  answered,  pointing  to  the  doe,  from 
which  we  drove  off  the  dogs,  setting  them  on  the  track  of  the 
old  buck,  who  had  shed  a  gill  of  the  purple  fluid  within  fifteen 
steps  of  the  place  where  the  dead  doe  lay,  ♦ 


BUCKS,    HAVE    AT   TE    ALL."  67 


"  Do  you  see  that,  Major,"  I  said,  pointing  to  the  crimson  drop- 
lets still  warm  upon  the  yellow  leaves  of  autumn. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  a  mortal  hit !  frothy ;  from  the  lungs  !  Push 
on,  Benbow,  or  the  dogs  will  tear  the  meat.  But  I  am  sure  that 
he  carries  my  lead  also.  I  never  missed  him,  Dick  ;  couldn't  do 
such  a  thing  at  my  time  of  life." 

"Well,  sir,  we'll  see.-  I  can  tell  you,  when  the  buck  was  near- 
ing  me,  he  didn't  show  signs  of  hurt !  There  may  have  been 
two." 

"  No  !  only  one !  I've  surely  hit  him.  I'll  stake  a  cool  hun- 
dred on  it." 

And  we  rode  forward,  Ned  joining  us  meanwhile.  The  deer  had 
left  him  entirely  to  the  right.  He  had  seen  nothing  of  either. 
"We  soon  found  the  old  buck,  just  dead.  The  shot  that  killed  him 
was  mine,  given  directly  behind  the  right  fore-quarter,  as  he  pushed 
obliquely  from  me.  But  the  exulting  Major  discovered  other 
button  holes  in  the  jacket  of  the  beast,  to  which  ho  laid  confident 
claim.  It  was  not  a  matter  which  could  be  proved,  so,  according- 
ly, it  was  not  exactly  the  matter  to  be  discussed.  We  all  readily 
recognized  the  claim  of  the  old  man  to  have  certainly  made  his 
mark,  if  he  had  not  exactly  made  his  meat.  It  was  admitted, 
however,  to  be  quite  a  feather  in  my  cap,  that,  fresh  from  the 
dingy  chambers  of  the  law,  and  the  ponderous  volumes  of  the  frosty 
wigs,  I  should  still  have  had  my  nerves  and  senses  in  such  good 
training  for  the  sports  of  the  field. 

"  The  law  has  not  spoiled  you  for  a  gentleman  and  a  hunter  yet," 
quoth  the  Major  encouragingly.  "  And  that  is  saying  something ; 
for  many's  the  pretty  fellow  whom  I've  known  it  ruin  for  all  pro- 
per purposes." 

Our  hunt  was  over  by  two  o'clock,  and  our  game  bagged. 
When  we  reached  "  the  Barony,"  we  found  it  full  of  guests.  Se- 
veral fine  spirited  fellows  were  there,  the  Porchers,  Ravenels, 
Cordes,  and  others,  as  guests  to  dinner ;  and  they  were  all  full- 


■>*,..;  ■  '  '    * 

58  THE    GOLDEN   CHRISTMAS.  --^^.•^> 

.  '^^^Z  '  ■ 

mouthed  in  their  reproaches  that  they  had  not  been  summoned 
to  the  hunt.  We  made  up  a  party  for  another  day,  and  adjourned 
to  dinner.  Night  found  us  still  at  the  table,  for  the  Major's  wines 
had  a  proverbial  smack  of  ancient  magic.  They  were  such  as  Me- 
phistophiles  himself  could  scarcely  have  mjvde  to  spout  out  from 
the  best  timber  in"  the  Black  Forest.  Whist  that  night,  and  whis- 
key punch  in  the  hbrary,  kept  us  busy  till  twelve,  when,  by  com- 
mon consent,  we  called  in  Morpheus  to  hght  us  to  our  chambers. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

INTRIGUE  AND  LOVE SHUFFLING  THE  CARDS. 

Days  and  nights  pass  with  singular  rapidity  at  a  southern  plan- 
tation. Visitor  succeeds  to  \isitor,  dinner  to  dinner,  and  every  day 
is  employed,  during  the  winter  holidays  at  least  in  preparing  for 
the  recreation  of  its  successor.  What,  with  old  acquaintances  to 
be  seen,  and  the  promotion  of  Ned's  affair^  I  was  incessantly  em- 
ployed. Besides,  the  Major's  circle  was  perpetually  full ;  and  I 
was  fi-equently  detained  at  "the  Barony"  engaged  in  seeing  visi- 
tors, when  both  Ned  and  myself  desired  to  be  abroad.  The  day 
after  the  hunt,  after  mjiking  a  circuit  and  two  or  three  calls,  we 
found  ourselves,  at  one  o'clock,  once  more  at  the  Girardin  estate, 
where  I  left  my  friend,  to  make  another  s\Ai  to  the  stately  Ma- 
dame Agnes-Theresa.  Ned,  meanwhile,  wandered  off  to  the 
grove  between  the  two  places,  an  anxious  waiter  upon  that  friend- 
ly Providence  which  is  supposed  generally  to  take  the  affairs  of 
love  in  hand.  Talk  of  true  love's  course  not  running  smoothly  1 
The  fact  is,  that,  after  certain  consideration  and  a  certain  experi- 
ence, I  am  assured  that  few  true  lovers  ever  have  much  reason  to 
complain.     Love  has  an  instinct  in  discovering  its  proper  mate, 


** 


iNXniOUE    AND   LOVfi — SHUFFLINO   THE    CARDS.  69 


and  suppose  there   are  obstacles  ?     These    really  heighten  the 
charm  of  pursuit,  and  increase  the  luxuries  of  conquest.     Stolen 
fniit  is  proverbially  the  sweetest,  and  stolen  kisses  are  such  as  the 
lips  never  quite  lose  the  taste  of.     The  first  kiss  lingers  in  memo- 
ry, softening  the  heart  to  fondness,  even  after  the  time  has  passed 
■when  any  kiss  affords  a  pleasure  ;  and,  to  man  or  woman,  I  sus- 
pect, ho  or  she  who  has  first  taught  us  the  subtle  and  delicious 
joy  of  that  first  kiss,  is  remembered  ^vith  a  sense  of  gratitude,  even 
when  there  is  no  warmer  emotion  inspired  by  the  same  person. 
To  Ned  and  the  lovely  Paula,  I  am   pei-suaded  that  the  stolen  in- 
torN-iews  which  I  succeeded  in  procuring  them,  will  be  among  their 
dearest  recollections   in   after  days.     Not  that  dear  little  Paula 
ever  crept  away  to  that  grove  without  fear  and  misgiving.     She 
wa<*n't  sure  that  it  was  right  to  do  so;  but  that  did  not  lessen  the 
pleasure  of  the  thing.     Again  and  again  they  met,  and  the  child 
murmured,  and  sighed,  and  wept,  and  was  made  happy  through 
all  her  fears  and  tears.     And  Ned  was  happy  too,  though  he  al- 
ways came  back  growling  from  the  inter\iew.     It  was  always  so 
phort.     Paula  was  always  in  such  a  hurry  to  break  away  1     Cer- 
tainly,  make  them  as  happy  as  you  plea'^e,  you  cannot  easily 
make  young  lovers  contented.     He  who  steals  the  fruit,  is  always 
sorr}'  to  leave  the  tree  behind  him.     Enough,  that  on  this,  as  on 
the   preceding  evening,  I  was  quite  successful  in  beguiling  the 
grandmother  with  long  discourse,  thus  affording  Paula  an  oppor* 
tunity  to  steal  away  and  meet  her  lover.     Do  not  be  angry  with 
her,  ye  prudes  who  have  survived  these  sympathies  of  seventeen. 
You  have  done  likewise,  every  one  of  you,  in  turn,  or,  if  you  have 
not,  the  merit  of  forbearance  was  none  of  yours.     You  would 
have  done  so,  loving  with  the  innocent  fondness  of  Paula,  and 
with  such  a  manly  and  noble  swain  as  Ned  Bulmer  to  pei"suade 
you  to  the  groves.     Well,  they  met,  and  mingled  sighs  and  pro- 
mises of  fidelity ;  but  in  vain  did  Ned  entreat  his  beauty  to  a 
clandestine  marriage.    Believing  that  he  should  never  conquer 


60  TBB   OOLt>IN   ORRtSTMAS* 


the  prejudices  of  bis  father,  or  subdue  the  stubborn  pride  of  Mv 
dame  Bonneau,  Ned  was  thus  desperate  in  his  projects.  But 
sweet  little  Paula  was  firm  on  this  subject 

"  I  will  never  love  any  but  you,  Edward — never  marry  any  but 
you — but  cannot  consent  to  a  secret  marriage." 

"  But  they  will  always  oppose  us,  Paula  1"  said  the  lover,  vehe- 
mently. 

"  Then  I  must  die  !'*  murmured  the  maiden,   with  her  head 
drooping  on  his  bosom.     And  then  he  protested  that  she  should 
not  die  ;  that  he  would  sooner  die  himself ;  nay,  kill  a  great  many 
other  people,  not  omitting  the  obstinate  grandmother,  and  the 
cruel  father,  and  many  other  desperate  things  ;  all  of  which  dear 
little  Paula  begged  him  not  to  do,  "  for  her  sake," — and  for  her 
sake  only,  he  magnanimously  consented  to  forbear  these  bloody 
performances.     But  why  linger  on  the  child   prattle  of  young 
lovers — so  sweet  but  so  simple ;  so  ridiculous,  to  our  thoughts, 
as  we  grow  older ;  yet  so  precious  and  full  of  meaning  when  we 
took  part  in  it,  and  in  wliich  the  heart  never  becomes  quite  too 
old  to  partake,  when  ever  the  opportunity  and  the  object  are  af- 
forded it.     At  last  they  separated,  with  the  sweet  kiss,  and  the  as- 
suring promise  of  fidelity  ;  botli  believing  implicitly  as  if  specially 
guaranteed   by  heaven.     Paula  reappeared,  and  relieved  me  of 
my  friendly  drudgeries  with  grandmamma,  suffering  the  same  re- 
buke, as  before,  for  her  disappearance.     The  next  day,  the  Major, 
Ned  and  myself,  rode  over  to  Mrs.  Mazyck's,  about  four  miles  dis- 
tant, to  make  our  obeisance.     Our  readers  know  what  are  the 
objects  of  the  *  Baron.'     Ned,  already,  I  fancy,  suspected  the  de- 
signs of  the  father,  from  the  j)ains  he  took  to  discour^ige  them. 
But,  supposing  me  ignorant  of  these  designs,  and  knowing  my 
passion  for  Beatrice,  he  was  scrupulously  careful  to  avoid  the  sub- 
ject.    His  deportment,  when  we  met  the  ladies,  gave  me  no  occa- 
sion for  jealousy.     We  spent  an  hour  with  them,  and  the  Major, 
devoting  himself  to  the  mother,  left  the  field  to  us  wholly,  so  far 


LOVE    AND    INTRIGUE — SHUFFLING   THE    CARDS.  61 


a«?  the  young  lady  was  concerned.  Ned,  in  a  degree  following 
his  father's  example,  now  left  the  field  to  me,  and  strolled  off  from 
the  parlour  into  the  Hbrary,  giving  me  sufficient  opportimity  to 
play  what  card  I  pleased  in  the  game.  When  the  Major  and 
Mrs.  Mazyck  returned  from  the  garden,  whither  they  had  gone 
to  trace  the  progress  of  certain  rare  seedlings  in  the  hot-house, 
they  found  Beatrice  and  myself  alone  together. 

The  mother  looked  grave,  and  the  Major  impatiently  asked 
afkr  his  son.  Of  course,  neither  of  us  knew  where  he  was. — 
When  he  was  hunted  up,  we  found  him  stretched,  at  length, 
on  the  sofa  in  the  library,  enveloped  in  the  most  downy  em- 
braces of  sleep.  The  Major  roased  him  Avith  a  fierce  shako 
of  the  shoulder,  and  looked  at  him  with  the  scowl  of  a  thunder- 
storm. Ned  took  the  whole  affair  very  quietly  ;  and  we  mounted 
our  horses  a  few  moirients  after.  When  fairly  off,  and  out  of  the 
gates,  the  old  man  blazed  out  with  his  volcanic  matter. 

"  A  d — d  pretty  puppy  you  are,  sir,  to  go  to  sleep  when  visit- 
ing a  lady  I  Do  you  Dot  know,  sir,  how  much  I  respect  Mrs. 
Mazyck,  sir  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  so  do  I,  but  you  took  her  off  yourself.  You  did'nt 
leave  me  to  entertain  her.  I  had  reason  to  bo  jealous,  sir,  of 
your  attentions." 

"  Jealous  I  The  d — ^1 !  But  I  left  you  and  Dick  to  entertain 
the  young  lady,  sir." 

"And  I  assure  you,  father,  that  Dick,  is  perfectly  adequate  to 
the  task  alone.     I  felt  that  I  should  be  de  trop^ 

"  De — what  I  why  the  devil  will  you  abuse  my  ears  with  that 
atrocious  lingo  ?  Leave  it  ofi^  sir,  if  you  please ;  in  my  hearing, 
at  least  I  repeat,  sir,  you  treated  Miss  Beatrice  with  marked  dis- 
respect" 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken,  sir.    I  treated  her  with  marked  con- 
sideration.    Ask  the  question  of  herself,  and  she  will  tell  you 
that  she  greatly  appreciates  the  attentions  which  I  paid  her.    Be 
6 


'* 


»         <■ 
62  THE   GOLDEN   OQRlSTMAS.  ■'> 

..  #    . 

assured,  she  has  no  sort  of  cause  for,  or  feeling  of,  disappoint* 
ment"       ''' 

**  Blockhead  I  you  know  not  the  mischief  you  do  by  this  con- 
duct." 

"  Indeed^  sir !     Pray  how  ?     Anything  serious  ?" 

"  Puppy  r*  exclaimed  the  complimentary  sire,  looking  at  me 
with  a  glance,  as  if  to  say — "  what  a  beautiful  game  of  mine  does 
the  fellow  strive  to  spoil," — but  he  forbore  his  speech,  and  only 
used  his  spurs ;  driving  them  into  his  horse's  flanks,  and  setting 
off  at  a  canter  that  soon  left  us  far  behind  him. 

"  Let  him  go,  Dick,  while  we  quietly  jog  on,  and  do  the  civil 
thing  to  one  another.  Dad  is  by  no  means  in  a  complimentary 
mood  to-day.  The  truth  is^  he  is  for  making  up  a  match  between 
Beatrice  Mazyck  and  myself^  but  that  match  won't  bum,  mon 
ami.  I  see  what  he's  after,  and  must  prepare  for  the  explosion. 
It  will  blow  out,  and  blow  over,  before  many  days." 

When  we  got  to  "  the  Barony,"  the  Major  was  no  where  to  be 
seen.  He  had  retired  to  his  chamber  to  soothe  his  anger  by  a 
temporary  resort  to  solitude. 

"  But,"  says  Ned,  "  solitude  was  never  a  favourite  passion  with 
him ;  and  we  shall  have  liim  down  upon  us  directly.  Meanwliile, 
let  us  have  some  wine." 

We  had  just  filled  our  glasses  v/hen  the  old  man,  sure  enough, 
made  his  appearance.  He  was  cloudy,  but  no  longer  savage.  He 
treated  me  with  rather  marked  civilities,  which  I  did  not  exactly 
hke ;  but  for  Ned  he  had  very  few  words.  Dinner  brought  him 
soothing ;  and  that  night,  when  Ned  left  us  together,  as  he  thought 
it  his  policy  to  do,  the  ^*ajor  recovered  his  wonted  kindness  and 
frankness,  over  a  hot  glass  of  whiskey  toddy. 

"  Thai  boy  put  me  out  to-day,  Dick,  as  he  gave  you  all  the 
chances.  Of  course  you  made  the  best  use  of  them.  I  confess 
it  makes  me  &ngry.  His  reluctance  spoils  a  favourite  plan.  I 
don't  despair  of  him  yet,  and  the  game  will  need  to  be  played 


LOVE   AND    INTRIGUE SHUFFUNO   THE   CARDS.  63 


frequently,  before  it  finishes.  You  have  made  a  point  in  it ;  and 
I  could  almost  say  that  I  am  glad,  for  your  sake,  that  you  have. 
Certainly,  Dick,  though  you  may  see  me  ruffled  with  that  cub  of 
mine,  in  this  matter,  don't  suppose  that  I  shall  ever  feel  any  un- 
kindness  towards  you.  Go  ahead,  as  I  said  before.  There  shall 
be  *  fair  play'  between  us." 

Such  was  the  purport  of  our  chat  that  night,  the  Major  get- 
ting over  his  moody  humour  before  he  had  entirely  got  through 
his  toddy.  And  so,  day  and  night  went  by  in  rapid  succession  ; 
society  daily ;  the  hunt,  the  dinner,  the  visitor,  and,  I  confess,  the 
nightly  potation,  sometimes  with  larger  Hberties  than  are  usually 
accorded  by  the  just  Temperance  standards.  Another  morning 
call  upon  Madame  Girardin,  which  she  received  only  as  my  own 
proper  tribute  to  herself — proof  of  my  good  taste  and  good  sense, 
and  her  acknowledged  rights — and  then  came  a  formal  invitation 
to  the  widow  Mazyck's  on  a  certain  evening,  by  which  we  knew 
that  a  grand  party  was  intended.  Ned  smiled,  as  the  billets  were 
handed  in  by  the  waiter. 

"  Miching  malico !"  quoth  he.  "  The  fight  thickens,  Dick. — 
It  will  soon  become  highly  interesting.  Well ;  wo  shall  go  of 
course.  I  have  a  faith  in  parties,  and  some  taste  for  them.  I 
love  dancing,  and  I  shall  find  Paula  there,  who  is  an  angel  on  the 
wing  on  such  occa<*ions.  I  mean  to  be  quite  attentive  this  time, 
80  that  Dad  shall  have  no  reason  to  complain.  Whether  I  shall 
altogether  please  him  by  the  sort  of  person  I  shall  choose,  on 
"whom  to  bestow  my  attentions,  is  a  qiiestion  which  he  may  re- 
solve for  my  benefit,  or  his  own,  hereafter." 

When,  an  hour  after,  in  the  library  with  the  Major,  he  showed 
me  his  invitation,  and  said — 

"  Well,  Dick,  here  are  the  chances  for  both  of  us.  I  shall  have 
a  talk  with  Ned,  and  try  to  spirit  him  on  to  his  duty.  He  can't  al- 
together neglect  the  lady ;  and  when  he  sees  Beatrice  in  contrast 
with  his  .little  Frenchified  puppet^  I  am  in  hopes  that  he  will  see 


*0« 


64  THE   GOLDEN   CHRISTMAS. 


her  somewhat  with  your  eyes.  At  all  events,  Dick,  if  we  are  to 
be  beaten  by  you  in  the  game,  it  will  be  some  consolation  to  me 
that  you  are  the  successful  player.  But  I  shall  do  my  best  to  thwart 
you,  my  boy,  if  I  can,  so  long  as  it  is  possible  to  do  any  thing  for 
Ned.    But  all  in  love,  Dick,  be  assured ;  nothing  in  mahce !" 

And  with  a  warm  and  friendly  gripe  of  the  hand,  we  separated 
for  the  night 


CHAPTER  IX. 

'•  Let  me  help  you  to  a  wife,  sir.** 
"  Help  yourself,  •ir.*' — Old  Play. 

Let  us  suppose  the  time  to  have  elapsed,  and  the  night  to  have 
arrived  for  the  party  at  Mrs.  Mazyck's.  "We  set  out  an  hour  by 
sun  for  her  place,  the  Major  and  Ned  taking  the  buggy  of  the 
latter,  while  I  accompanied  Miss  Bulmer,  the  maiden  sister  of  the 
former.  The  Major  contrived  this  arrangement  the  better  to  in- 
form his  companion,  along  the  way,  touching  his  wishes,  and  the 
particular  deportment  which  he  expected  of  the  latter,  when  he 
had  reached  the  scene  of  action.  He  had,  during  the  day,  been 
sho^ving  me,  in  part,  what  ho  meant  to  say  to  Ned;  painting 
Beatrice  Mazyck  to  me  in  the  most  glowing  colours,  and  evidently 
memorizing,  for  future  use,  certain  wonderfully  flowery  phrases, 
which  he  had  recalled  from  his  early  reading  of  such  poets  as 
had  been  popular  in  his  day.  He  was  as  impatient  for  the  hour 
of  starting  as  myself,  and  we  set  off,  all  of  us,  under  some  excite- 
ment ;  Ned  anticipating  all  that  he  should  hear ;  the  Major  anx- 
ious to  be  delivered  of  his  eloquence ;  Miss  Bulmer  thinking  of 
large  revenues  of  parish  chit  chat ;  and  I,  shall  I  confess  it,  eager 


"let  MB  faELP  YOU  TO  A  WIFE,  em,"  66 

for  the  meeting  with  one  whom  I  yet  approached  with  fear  and 
trembhng,  no  less  than  love ! 

Ned  and  his  father  followed  us,  the  latter  having  delayed  his 
movements  purposely  to  suffer  the  carriage  to  go  ahead.  To  my 
friend,  subsequently,  J  owed  a  full  account  of  the  conversation. 

*  The  Governor,'  said  he,  'began  vvith  a  long  exordium,  intend- 
ing to  show  me  that  he  had  lived  solely  for  my  happiness  and 
not  for  his  own.  To  hear  him,  one  would  suppose,  that,  but  for 
the  well-beloved  son,  he  would  have  been  better  pleased  to  lie 
down  in  the  grave  in  peace.  Yet  no  man  loves  a  good  dinner 
more  sincerely,  or  smacks  his  lips  after  a  glass  of  madeira  vvith  a 
more  infinite  sense  of  prevailing  thirst.  To  see  me  happy  and 
successful — to  see  me  well  married,  in  brief^  before  ho  died — was 
to  him  the  only  remaining  desire  of  his  life.  He  asked  me  almost 
sternly,  if  I  did  not  believe  the  marriage  state,  the  natural  and 
proper  state  of  man  ?  I  told  him — as  I  really  thought — '  and  ot 
woman  too.'  'No  jests,  Ned,'  said  he,  'the  subject  is  a  very 
serious  one.'  '  Even  gloomy  I  should  say,  sir,  judging  from  your 
visage  and  tones  at  this  moment.  Really,  sir,  if  you  look  so 
wretched  on  the  subject,  I  shall  l>e  frightened  forever  from  its  con- 
sideration.' '  Pshaw !  you  are  a  fool,'  said  he,  '  it  is  so  far  serious 
as  the  subject  of  human  happiness  is  the  serious  question  of  hu- 
man life.'  '  Don't  agree  with  you  I',  said  I.  '  I  don't  see  that 
we've  any  need  to  bother  our  brains  with  such  a  subject.  The 
business  of  mortal  life  is  not  happiness,  if  it  be  true  thiit  our  busi- 
ness is  the  establishing  of  a  right  to  happiness  hereafter.  I  sup- 
pose it  is  the  proper  question  for  mule,  horse,  cow  or  dog,  which 
have  nothing  but  the  present  to  take  care  of;  but  is  clearly  not 
the  one  for  us.'  *  And  what  is  the  question  for  us,  Mr.  Philoso- 
pher ?'  *  Clearly  duty  P  *  Precisely,'  quoth  the  Governor,  '  and  is  it 
not  your  duty,  at  a  certain  time  in  life,  to  get  yourself  a  wife  V  '  Tol- 
erable rhyme  enough,'  said  I,  *  no  matter  what  may  be  the  value  of  the 
philoeophy.*  *  Don't  vex  me,  Ned,*  said  he,  *but  speak  seriously. 
6* 


^^^ 

-'«,.' 


60  THX    OOLOXK   OHltieTMA0.  "^     .^ 


Don't  you  conceive  it  to  be  your  duty,  now  tbat  you  are  twenty- 
one,  or  near  it,  to  be  looking  about  you  for  a  help-meet  V  *  Or  a 
help-eat  meat — ^which  I  take  to  be  the  more  appropriate  phra&e 
usually.'  *  You  are  enough,  sir,  to  vex  Saint  Francis  ?  Can't  you 
answer  a  straight  question  V  '  How  can  that  be  a  straight  ques- 
tion which  concerns  a  Wo  T  *  A\Tiat  a  vile  attempt  at  wit !  A 
punster  is  always  a  puppy !'  *  And  if  so  a  physician !'  *  Why, 
sir?'  *He  deals  in  hark P  *Phhaw,  Ned!  Have  done  with 
that,  and  answer  me  like  a  man  of  sense.  I  tell  you  that  I  am 
very  serious.  I  contend  that  you  ought  to  be  thinking  of  a  wife.' 
/Well,  sir,  I  have  given  you  to  understand  that  I  Aavebeen  think- 
ing of  one.'  '  WHiat !  that  little  Bonneau !  But  that's  out  of  the 
question,  I  tell  you.  I  will  never  consent  to  any  such  folly.  Let 
me  choose  a  >vife  for  you  ?'  *  Really,  sir,  that's  almost  as  reasona- 
ble a  demand  as  if  I  had  claimed  the  right  before  I  was  born  to 
have  chosen  my  own  mother.  I  protest,  sir,  I  hold  it  abominable 
that,  not  content  with  choosing  for  yourself,  you  should  also  assert 
the  privilege  of  selecting  for  me  the  mother  of  my  children.  Don't 
you  think,  sir,  that  you  might  just  as  reasonably  make  it  a  requi- 
sition in  your  will,  that  your  grand-children,  male  or  female,  shall 
only  marry  persons  of  a  certain  figure — measured  proportions,  de- 
fined temperaments,  colour  of  hair,  and  skin,  form  of  chin  and 
mouth — all  accurately  described  V  'And  it  would  bo  a  devilish 
sight  better  for  the  race,  could  the  thing  be  done.  We  should 
then  have  fewer  puppies  and  dolls  to  destroy  the  breed  in  noble 
families.  But  to  the  point.  I  tell  you,  sir,  you  must  think  no 
more  of  this  little  Frenchwoman.'  '  Frenchwoman,  sir !  \Miy 
Paula  Bonneau  is  as  much  an  American  and  a  South  Carohnian 
as  yourself.'  '  The  Americans  are  not  a  race,  sir.  As  for  the 
South  Carolinian^,  sir,  I  doubt  if,  just  at  this  moment,  we  ought 
to  speak  of  them  at  all.  I  am  not  satisfied  that  the  subject 
afifords  us  any  cause  of  satisfaction.  We  are  not  in  a  condition  for 
boasting,  sir,  any  longer.    All  of  our  great  men  have  gone ;  and 


'let  me  help  tou  to  a  wife,  sir."  67 


the  labours  of  our  little  men,  to  put  on  the  strut  of  greatness,  is 
that  froggish  emulation  of  oxlike  devolopement  which  the  old  fable 
finds  for  our  benefit.  Indeed,  the  condition  of  our  country  is  one 
of  the  reasons  why  I  am  so  anxious  that  you  should  marry  wisely. 
There  is  nothing  so  important  as  that  you  should  get  a  woman, 
sir,  a  real  woman,  and  not  a  child — not  a  chit — as  the  mother  of 
my  grand-children.  I  want  the  name  of  Bulmcr,  sir,  transmitted 
through  a  race  fearless  in  spirit,  generous  in  impulse,  active  in 
thought,  and  noble  in  figure.  Sir,  it  is  impossible  that  such  nopes 
can  be  reahzed  in  wiving  with  such  an  insignificant  little  thing — ' 
'  Stop,  sir,'  said  I,  '  go  no  farther.  I  will  listen  to  you  reverently 
enough  so  long  as  you  forbear  what  is  offensive  to  Paula  Bon- 
neau !'  The  old  man  muttered  something  savagely  between  his 
closed  teeth ;  then,  impatiently — '  Well,-  sir,  I  will  endeavour  not 
to  tread  upon  your  corns,  since  you  are  so  monstrous  sensitive 
about  them.  I  will  say  nothing  in  disparagement  of  the  one, 
while  urging  the  claims  of  the  other  lady.  Ned,  my  son,  you  do 
not  doubt  that  I  love  you ;  that  I  think  for  you,  strive  for  you, 
and  that  my  chief  solicitude  in  life  is  that  you  may  be  settled  in 
such  a  way,  before  I  leave  it,  as  will  be  most  likely  to  ensure  your 
happiness.'  The  Governor  was  evidently  disposed  to  try  the  pa- 
thetic on  me.  '  But,  sir,  you  are  hardly  likely  to  do  this,  if  you 
deny  me  the  right  of  thinking  for  myself.  On  a  matter  of  this 
sort,  sir,  a  young  man  is  more  apt  to  be  tenacious  of  his  rights, 
than  upon  any  other  subject.  I  am  perfectly  persuaded  that  you 
should  choose  a  horse  for  me,  sir.  I  know  you  have  an  excellent 
eye  to  horses,  can  trace  blood  and  determine  pedigree  to  a  fraction, 
and  know  the  good  points  of  draught  or  saddle  horses  at  the 
glance  of  an  eye.  I  am.  not  unwilling  to  believe,  sir,  that  your 
judgment  is  equally  infalUblo  in  hounds  and  pointers.  I've  ob- 
Fened  that^  sir,  a  hundred  times.  In  the  matter  of  dogs  and 
horses,  sir,  I  would  leave  everything  to  your  judgment ;  but  real- 
ly, sir,  regarding  a  woman,  or  a  wife,  by  standards  whoUy  differ- 


K 


K  '    • 


.-.  •♦ 


68  THB   OOLDSN   OHRISTMAB. 


ent,  I  confess,  if  a  wife  is  to  be  chosen,  I  should  prefer  pleasing 
my  own  eye  to  pleasing  yours.    I  assure  you,  sir,  that  if  it  were 
your  present  purpose  to  choose  one  for  yourself,  I  should  not  in- 
terfere with  your  judgment  in  the  slightest  degree.'     *  You  are 
enough  to  irritate  a  Saint,  Ned  Bulraer,  and  I  have  half  a  mind 
to  take  you  at  your  word,  marry  again,  and  cut  you  oflf  without 
a  shilling.     But  I  know  you  for  a  teazing  puppy,  and  you  shan't 
ruffle  me.     If  I  did  not  know  that  you  conceal  a  good  heart  and 
a  noble  nature  under  this  garment  of  levity — did  I  not  know  that 
you  have  a  proper  veneration  for  me  as  your  father,  sir,  I  should 
tumble  you  headlong  out  of  the  buggy.     You  shall  hear  me  nev- 
ertheless.    I  want  you  to  marry.     I  have  said  so.     You  wish  to 
marry.-     *  I  have  said  it.'     *  But  not  the  right  woman.     Now,  I 
have  chosen  the  right  woman  for  you ;  I  have  opened  a  negocia- 
tion  with  Mrs.  Mazyck  for  her  daughter,  Beatrice,  for  you !'  '  What, 
sir,  have  you  two  wcked  old  people  devoted  us  as  a  burnt  offer- 
ing, two  innocent  lambs  to  the  sacrifice,  without  so  much  as  say- 
ing a  word  to  either  of  us  on  the  subject.'     '  I  am  saying  it  to 
you  now.'     'But  after   you  have  managed  every  thing.     And 
here  you  would  drag  us  away,  with  flowers  perhaps  about  our 
brows,  and  chain  as,   a  pair  of  consecrated  victims  at  the  altar  of 
your  pride  and  avarice.     Shame  on  you,  papa,  and  shame  on  you, 
mamma,  for  these  cruel  doings.'     The  mock  heroic  was  too  much 
for  the  old  Major's  philasoi)hy.     But  liis  rage  strove  with  the  lu- 
dicrous in  his  fancy.     lie  swore  and  laughed  in  the  same  breatli. 
'Papa,'  I  continued,  'you're  going  to  make  mo  behave  cruelly. 
Whenever  you  say  or  do  a  foolish,  or  wicked,  or  cruel  thing,  I'll 
whip  the  hoi-se.     You'll  see  !     I  can't  lay  the  whip  on   you,  but 
I'll  show  my  sense  of  what  you  deserve,  by  scoring  the  flanks  of 
White  Kaven  !     I  will !     1  owe  him  more  than  twenty  cuts  al- 
ready.'    And,  saying  these  words,  I  popped  the  lash  over  the 
quarter  of  the  hoi-se  twice  or  thrice,  before  he  couU  arrest  my 
hand.     '  Why,  are  you  mad  V  said  he,  seizing  the  whip,  or  making 


*\ 


LET   ME    HELP    YOU    TO    A    WIFE,    SIR."  69 


n  an  effort  to  do  so.     *No,  sir,  not  mad,  but  highly  indignant. 
Somebody  wants  a  sound  whipping,  and  I  must  bestow  it  on 
something.'     *  Well,'  said  he,  with  more  composure  than  I  expect- 
ed, 'I  fancy  your  next  proceeding  will  bo  to  try  your  whip  on  my 
shoulders.'     '  Oh  !  no,  sir  I  never ;  though,  if  you  were  seriously 
to  ask  me  the  question,  I  should  say,  that  if  grand-papa  were 
still  hving,  I  should  bo  apt  to  request  him  to  subject  you  to  some 
of  the  ancient  forms  of  mortification  and   flagellation.'     'Ned,' 
^aid  he,  *  my  dear  son,  let  me  entreat  you  to  give  me  your  serious 
attention.     Beheve  me,  I  was  never  more  serious  in  my  life.     I 
wish  you  to  look  upon  Beatrice  Mazyck  with  the  eyes  of  a  lover, 
and  pay  all  proper  court  to  her  in  that  capacity.     I  liave  spoken 
with  her  mother.     She  favours  the  match,  and  I  am  therefore 
really  and  earnestly  committed  to  her.     Now,  my  son,  do  not 
forget  what  you  owe  to  the  ^^^shes  of  your  father.     It  is  probable 
tliat  Mrs.  Mazyck  has  spoken  with  Beatrice,  even  as  I  have  spoken 
T\ith  you,  and,  in  all  probability,  the  young  lady  will  expect  your 
attentions,  as  I  know  her  mother   ^\^ll.     Do  not  trifle  Avith  her 
feelings,  my  son,  and  I  pray  you  respect  mine.'     He  said  a  great 
deal  more,  when,  becoming  seriously  vexed,  I  kept  still  while 
lie  exhausted  himself.     Finding  I  still  kept  silence,  he  asked — 
'  Well,  Ned,  what  do  you  say  ?'     *  What  can  I  say,  sir  ?  It  seems 
to  me  that  I  am  the  person  for  whom  a  ^vife  is  wanted.     I  choose 
one  woman,  and  you  another.     I  don't  see,  sir,  how  we  are  to  re- 
concile our  diflferences  in  taste.'     *  But,  Ned,  the  woman  of  whom 
you  speak  is  by  no  means  suitable.'     *  That,  sir,  seems  a  question 
proper  only  to  myself  to  determine,     llie  whole  question  resolves 
itself  to  this.     Either  I  am  under  a  despotism,  or  I  am  not.     You 
would  not  undertake,  sir,  to  force  me  to  eat  cabbage  at  your  table 
whether  I  wanted  it  or  not     Yet,  sir,  it  would  be  quite  an  innocent 
t}Tanny  to  force  me  to  eat  cabbage  against  my  will,  compared  to 
that  of  compelling  me  to  take  a  wife  against  my  will  I'     *  Do  you 
mean  to  compare  Beatrice  Mazyck  to  a  cabbage  V    *  Heaven  for- 


A^ 


»■     .,  .   -  -- • 

70  THB    QOLDBN   OnRIBTMAB. 


bid,  sir,  that  I  should  do  any  thing  so  irreverent  or  ungallant — 
But  I  do  not  take  to  Beatrice,  nor  I  suspect,  she  to  me.*  *  But 
try  her,  at  least.  *  Why,  sir,  when  I  don't  want  her,  and  when, 
in  all  probability,  she  is  as  little  desirous  of  me  ?'  *  For  my  sake, 
Ned,  do  the  courteous  thing,  and  wo  know  not  but  you  will  come 
to  relish  one  another.'  *  I  will  do  anything  in  reason  for  your 
sake,  father,  but  this  is  not  reasonable ;  and  your  intriguing  nego- 
ciations  with  the  mother  of  the  one  lady  may  do  equal  wrong  to 
her  and  to  myself,  and  lead  to  confusion,  if  not  misery,  all  round.' 
*  It's  too  late  now,  Ned ;  I  am  commit^d — think  of  that !  I  am 
committed !  My  honour  is  committed.  Your  father's  honour.' 
*You  have  no  doubt  erred,  sir,  but  your  committal  is  one  for 
which  reason,  common  sense,  human  nature,  will  all  furnish  you 
in  a  moment,  a  reasonable  apology  to  any  reasoning  and  intelli- 
gent mother.  But,  that  you  are  committted,  does  not  seem  to  me 
to  involve  any  necessity  why  you  should  commit  me  also.  This 
philosophy  is  that  of  the  old  fox,  who  went  once  too  often  to  the 
rat-trap,  and  then  discoursed  to  his  brethren  of  the  indecency  of 
wearing  tails.  You  have  never  found  me  a  wilful  or  disobedient 
son,  my  father  ;  why  force  me  now,  by  a  tyranny  which  society 
no  longer  tolerates-^ — which  has  become  wholly  traditional  with 
the  tales  of  Blue  Beard  and  other  Barons — not  of  CaroUna — to 
show  that  insubordination  which  I  never  exhibited  before.'  *  Ty- 
ranny I  You  call  me  a  tyrant,  Ned  V  *  According  to  my  no- 
tions, if  you  urge  this  matter,  you  will  bo.  People  think  differ- 
ently about  tyranny  and  tyrants.  One  man,  doing  &  merciless 
act,  will  fancy  no  cruelty  in  the  performance  if  he  smile  upon  the 
victim,  and  use  the  gentlest  language,  while  he  goads  him  to  ex- 
tremity. Youi  Jack  Ketch  is  a  notorious  humanitarian — a  fellow 
of  most  benevolent  stomach,  who  will  beg  your  forgiveness  and 
your  prayers,  while  adjusting  the  knot  in  '  gingerly  fiishion'  un- 
der your  left  lug.  I've  no  doubi  you'd  carry  me  to  the  altar, — 
which,  unless  I  am  suffered  to  choose  my  own  wife,  I'd  as  Uef 


HOW  WK   DANCED,  AND   8tn»PED,  AND   BO — rORTH  I  7 1 


f^hould  be  the  halter — with  the  most  parental  tenderness.     You'd 
try  to  reconcile  me  to  the  rope  by  giving  mo  a  glorious  wedding- 
supper,  and  the  next  morning,  I  should  receive  deeds  conveying 
to  me  your  best  plant^ition  and  a  hundred  negroes/     *  Well,  sir  V 
'  Well,  sir,  I  say,  rather  than  marry  the  wife  of  another  man's 
choosing,  I'd  fling  deed,  and  estate,  and  negroes  into  the  fire,  and 
plough  my  own  road  to  fortune  in  the  worst  sand  lands  of  the 
country.     You  have  not  the  fortune,  sir,  even  if  you  gave  me  all 
that  you  have  and  could  bestow,  that  can  reconcile  me  to  the 
bitter  physic  you  require  me  to  take  as  the  condition  by  which  it 
is  obtained.'     With  that  I  scored  the  horse,  sajnng  as  I  did  so— 
I   '  But  here  we  are,  sir,  at  Bonneau  Place ;  I  suppose  it  will  be  pro- 
]  per  only  to  say  no  more,  just  now,  on  the  subject.'     He  put  his 
hand  on  my  arm — *  My  dear  Ned,  for  my  sake,  do  the  civil  thing 
by  Miss  Mazj'ck.     Pay  her  everj^  attention,  dance  with  her,  see 
her  to  supper,  and — '     *  Enough,  my  dear  father,  enough  !  I  shall 
certainly  not  do  anything  to  forfeit  the  character  of  a  gentleman. 
But,  be  sure,  I  shall  not  do  any  thing  which  shall  lead  her  to  sup- 
pose that  I  am  ambitious  of  the  attitude  of  a  lover.'     The  old 
man  threw  himself  back  in  the  buggy  in  a  desponding  attitude, 
muttering  something  which  I  did  not  make  out,  and  in  the  next 
I  moment  we  dashed  into  the  court  among  a  dozen  other  vehicles. 

1  . 


CHAPTER  X. 

HOW  WI  DANCED,  AND  SUPPED,  AND  BO FORTH  1 

The  Mazyck  establishment  was  on  an  extensive  scale.  It  was 
its  ancient  baronial  features  that  had  insensibly  impressed  the 
imagination  of  Major  Bulmer.  The  house  was  a  vast  one  for  our 
country — a  massive  mansion  of  brick,  opening  upon  a  grand  pas- 


72  TBS    GOLDXK   OBRIBTMAft. 


sage  way,  or  hall  in  the  centre,  from  which  you  diverged  into 
double  rooms  on  either  hand.  These  were  of  larger  size  than 
usual  in  our  country  seate.  These  also  had  wings,  consisting  each 
of  a  single  room  over  the  basement,  and  lower  by  one  story  than 
the  main  building.  One  of  these,  devoted  to  the  Hbrary,  was 
thrown  open  on  the  present  occasion.  The  other  was  a  sort  of 
state  chamber,  meant  for  guests  of  distinction,  special  favourites, 
or  for  newly  married  couples.  The  floors  were  magnificently  car- 
peted, and  the  rooms  elegantly  furnished.  Tliey  were  already 
beginning  to  fill  on  our  arrival ;  the  custom  of  the  country  differ- 
ing from  that  of  the  city  in  requiring  the  guests  to  come  early, 
however  late  they  may  be  pei-suaded  to  stay.  Very  soon  the  bus- 
tle of  first  ai-rivals  was  at  an  end  ;  only  now  and  then,  an  occa- 
sional annunciation  betokened  some  visitor  who  still  held  to  the 
city  rule  of  late  arrivals,  or  who,  most  probably,  was  ambitious  of 
an  innovation  upon  country  habits.  A  vulgar  self-esteem  always 
comes  late  to  church  or  into  society,  if  only  with  the  view  of  mak- 
ing a  sensation.  At  eight  o'clock  tea  was  served,  with  the  usual 
accompaniments  of  cake  and  cracker.  Quito  a  creditable  display 
of  silver  plate  was  justified  by  this  service,  and  the  green  bever- 
age sent  up  such  savoury  odours  of  the  Land  of  Flowers,  as  would 
have  stirred  even  the  obtuse  olfactories  of  Sam  Johnson.  Sup- 
pose the  compaay  all  arranged,  rather  formally  around  the  par- 
lour, with  glimpses  of  groups  of  young  persons  especially  in  the 
Hbrary,  all  busy  in  the  kindred  occupations  of  tea  and  ttilk,  fifty 

*      cups  smoking  and  as  many  tongues  making  music,  and  we  may 

now  look  round  the  circle,  and  take  in  its  several  aspects.     Tall, 

stately,  the  form  and  features  of  my  antique  friend,  Madame  Ag- 

,     nes-Theresa,  rise,  supreme   over  all  presences,  in  erect  dignity, 

starched  cap  and  handkerchief,  scant  locks  of  pepper  and  salt,  and 

-» .     sharp  eyes  that  suffer  no  evasion  or  escape.     I  approach,  I  bend 

-^ '     before  her,  I  crave  to  bo  blessed  with  her  smiles,  and  she  accords 

them.    But  where  is  pretty  Paula?     In  the  library  vnth  the 


sow   WE   DANCED,  AND    BtTPPED,  ANf)    SO — FORTH  I  73 


young  people.  Ah  !  and  Ned  Bulmer  is  already  hovering  about 
her,  as  the  moth  about  the  flame.  The  Major  sees  him  not  as 
yet,  being  exceedingly  earnest  in  his  attentions  to  Mi-s.  Mazyck. 
The  veteran  is  displaying  the  graces  of  manner  which  constituted 
the  ton  thirty-five  or  forty  years  ago.  Then  it  -was  all  elaborate 
courtesies — a  bow  was  a  thine:  of  ceremonial — the  riirht  toe  had 
its  given  route  prescribed  in  one  direction,  the  left  in  another — off 
at  right  angles ;  the  arms  were  spread  abroad  in  a  waving  coui-se, 
the  hands  inclining  to  the  knees — which,  as  the  back  was  bent  like 
a  bow  at  the  stretch,  enabled  them  almost  to  clasp  them. — 
The  head  slightly  thrown  back,  the  chin  peering  out,  an  ineffable 
smilo  upon  the  lips,  and  a  profound  admiration  expressed  in  the 
eyes,  and  you  have  the  attitude,  air  and  manner  of  the  ancient 
beau  ready  to  do  battle  and  die  in  your  behalf.  That  careless, 
effortless,  informal  manner,  which  marked  the  insouciant  character 
of  our  day,  was,  with  the  excellent  Major,  only  a  dreadful  proof 
of  the  degeneracy  of  the  race. 

"  A  fellow  now-a-days,"  quoth  he,  "  enters  a  room,  as  if  ho 
sees  nobody  or  cares  for  nobody  ;  as  if  he  owned  pretty  much  all 
that  he  sees  ;  he  slides,  or  rather  saunters  in  with  the  listless  air 
of  a  man  picking  his  teeth  after  dinner— anon,  he  catches  a  glance 
of  somebody  whom  he  condescends  to  know;  and  it  is — 'Ah, 
Miss  Eveline,  or  Isabella,  or  Maria,  or  Teresa,  how  d'ye — glad  to 
see  you  looking  so— ah  ! — w€ll !  and  how's  your  excellent  mam- 
ma ?  Hope  the  dear  old  lady  keeps  her  own.  Good  for  fifty 
years  yet ;  and  how  long  have  you  been  from  town  ?  Very  dull 
here  ;  don't  ye  think  so  ? — ah-h-h  !'  yawning  as  if  he  had  toiled 
all  day  and  caught  no  fish.  Talk  of  such  fello'vvs,  indeed.  They 
secna  to  be  made  out  of  nothing  but  wire  an'd  whale-bone,  with  a 
pair  of  butterfly  wings  which  they  can't  fly  with,  and  such  a  voice, 
like  that  of  an  infant  frog  with  rather  a  bad  cold  for  such  a  juve- 
nile. Sad  degeneracy  I  Very  different,  Mrs.  Mazyck,  from  the 
men  of  our  day.* 
7 


*^  »  ♦♦• 


74  TBS   OOLDSK   0BRI8TMAS* 


Talking  with  Beatrice  Mazyck,  three  removes  from  him,  I  con- 
trived to  hear  every  syllable,  and  whispered  her  at  the  moment. 
He  turned  just  then,  and  detected  the  movement.  He  joined  us 
in  a  second,  and  with  a  profound  bow  to  the  lady,  and  a  smile  of 
kindness  to  me,  he  said — 

"  I  see  you  heard  me,  my  dear  Miss  Beatrice,  by  the  laughing 
smile  upon  your  countenance.  I  do  not  know  whether  you  agree 
with  me,  or  can  agree  with  me,  since  you  have  no  opportunity  of 
knowing  the  manners  of  a  day  long  before  your  own." 

"  Unless,"  quickly  and  archly  answered  the  lady,  "  unless  from 
the  excellent  occasional  example  which  has  been  preserved  to  the 
present  time,  and  fi*om  which  we  are  compelled  to  feel  that  there 
is  more  truth  in  your  report,  than  we  are  willing  to  acknowledge. 
What  say  you,  Mr.  Cooper  ?" 

"  Nay,  do  not  ask  him,"  said  the  Major,  "  for,  of  a  truth,  to  do 
him  justice,  he  is  one  of  the  few  exceptions  which  the  present 
day  offers  to  the  uniform  degeneracy  of  its  young  men.  Dick 
Cooper  is  a  favourite  of  mine,  and  particularly  so  from  his  freedom 
from  all  affectations.  lie  does'ut  a3ect  ease,  by  a  most  laborious 
suppression  of  dign'ay  and  manhood — to  say  nothing  of  grace." 

This  was  very  handsome  of  the  Major,  and  I  felt  that  I  ought 
to  blush  if  I  did  not,  but  I  replied  without  seeming  to  notice  the 
compliment. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think.  Major,  that  the  two  periods  simply  oc- 
cupied extremes,  neither  significant  of  sincerity.  In  fact,  conven- 
tional life  seems  of  its  own  nature  to  forbid  sincerity,  inasmuch  as 
it  denies  earnestness.  Now,  the  school  which  you  so  admirably 
represent.  Major,  appears  to  me  to  have  sought  for  finish  at  every 
sacrifice ;  and  to  have  aimed  at  the  application  of  court  manners  on 
reception  days  to  the  business  of  ordinary  social  life.  I  confess, 
for  my  own  part,  though  I  try  to  be  as  profound  in  ray  courtesies 
as  possible,  I  can  not  well  persuade  myself  to  emulate  or  imi- 
tate, even  if  that  were  possible,  the  elaborate  bow  with  which  you 


HOW    WE    DANCED,  AND    SUPPED,  AND    80 FORTH  I  76 


bent  before  Mrs.  Mazyck,  or  even  that  still  more  elaborate,  if  les3 
courteous  obeisance  which  you  made  when  passing  Mrs.  Bonneau. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  the  contrast  which  you  speak  of  is  indica- 
tive of  moral  changes  of  a  serious  character  in  the  race.     As  the 
court  usher  of  Louis  XV.  detected  the  approaching  revolution  in 
the  ribands  in  the  shoes  of  the  courtier  noble,  in  place  of  the 
golden  buckle,  so  does  the  substitution  of  the  jaunty,  indifferent 
manner  of  the  modern  gentleman  betray  the  dislike  to  form,  re- 
straint, and  all  authority — in  a  word,  that  utter  decline  of  rever- 
ence— which  promises  to  be  the  great  virtue  in  the  eyes  of  ultra- 
democracy,  the  maxim  of  which  is — '  The  world's  mine  oyster.* 
The  eye  of  our  times  takes  in  all  things  that  it  sees,  and  at  once 
acquires    a  right  therein;  and  even  the  smiles  of  beauty,  are 
things  of  course,  which  to  behold  is  necessarily  to  command. — • 
Whether  we  do  not  lose  by  this  confidence  in  ourselves, — for  this 
is  the  true  signification  of  it  all, — is  a  question  which  I  do  not 
propose  to  argue.     I  am  of  the  opinion,  my  dear  Major,  that  a 
compromise  might  well  be  made  between  the  manners  of  your 
day  and  ours — when  ease  of  manner  might  be  regulated  and  re- 
strained by  a  courtly  grace,  and  a  gentle  sohcitude,  and  when  dig- 
nity might  be  held  back  from  the  embraces  of  formality." 

"  Ah  I  Dick,  that  would  be  quite  a  clever  essay,  and  full  of 
Buggestiveness,  but  for  that  atrocious  word  '  compromise.'  Tho 
compromises  of  modern  democracy  are  the  death  of  our  securi- 
ties, and  democracy  is  but  that '  universal  wolf^'  as  described  by 
Shakspeare,  *"  • 

"  Which  makes  perforce  an  universal  prey, 
And  last,  cats  up  itself." 

You  remember  tlie  passage ;  and  that  which  follows  is  the  clue 

to  the  whole  evil — 

"  This  chaos  when  Dfgtet  is  suffocate, 
Follows  the  choking." 

The  Major  had  got  upon  a  favourith  text,  and  was  not  soon 


V6  THE    GOLDEN   CHRISTMAB. 


suffocate  himself.  It  is  not  possible  for  me  to  follow  him,  nor  is 
it  desirable  that  I  should.  He  gave  ine  at  the  close  a  sly  look, 
saying-— 

"  I  must  go  seo  after  Ned.  Ah !  Dick,  if  he  only  had  the  good 
taste  which  you  have,  and  knew  as  well  how  to  lead  out  trumps 
in  a  game  like  ours." 

This  was  all  said  in  a  whisper.  He  disappeared  leaving  me 
etill  to  play  the  cards  in  my  possession.  What  need  I  speak  of 
the  game  ?  Suffice  it  that  I  played,  not  presumptuously,  and  yet 
I  trust  manfully.  At  all  events,  I  secured  the  hand  of  Beatrice 
Mazyck — for  the  first  cotillion. 

Tea  disappeared,  an  inteiTCgnum  followed,  in  which  the  buz 
was  universal,  and  mostly  unintelligible  except  to  a  few  who  con- 
trived, like  myself,  to  monopolize  a  corner  and  a  companion.  Soon, 
there  was  a  slight  bustle,  and  a  fair-haired  and  fair-cheeked  girl, 
a  Miss  Starke,  from  one  of  the  middle  districts,  was  conducted  to 
the  piano,  which  she  approached  with  hesitating  ste])s ;  but  the 
hesitancy  ceased  when  her  fingers  began  to  commerce  with  the 
keys.     She  executed  the  Moses  in  Egypt  of  Bossini,  with  a  nice 
appreciation,  and  secured  u  very  tolerable  hearing  from  the  audi- 
ence ;  a  song  followed  from  a  Miss  Walter,  of  some  one  of  the 
parishes ;  and  then  a  lively  overture  from  the  violin  in  the  pjis- 
sage-way  silenced  the  j)iano  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  signalizing 
a  general  and  very  animating  bustle.     There   were  two  violins, 
one  of  them,  as  usual  upon  large  plantations  in  the  South,  being 
a  negro — a  fellow  of  infinite  excellence  in  drawing  the  bow.     The 
other  was  an  amiable  young  gentleman  of  the  neighbourhood, 
whose  good  nature  and  real  merits  as  a  musician,  led  him  fre- 
quently to  perform   at  the  friendly  reunions  in  the  Parish.     Be- 
tween the  two  we  had  really  first  rate  fiddling ;  and  the  carpets 
soon  disappeared  from  the  hall  and  the  opposite  apartment  to  the 
parlour,  atl'ording  ample  room  and  verge  enough  for  our  pur- 
poses ;  and  to  it  we  went  with  a  merry  bound,  and  a  perfect  ex- 


%^ 


HOW   WE   DANCED,  AND    8UPPED,  AND   SO — FORTH  I  77 


hilaration  of  the  soul,  wheeling  about  in  all  the  subdued  graces 
of  tlio  quadrille,  and  forgetting  phlegm  and  philosophy  in  a 
moment.  The  dancers  were  surrounded  by  the  spectitors,  and, 
with  Beatrice  Mazyck  as  my  partner,  I  confess  to  being  as  little 
dis))osed  for  grave  thoughts  and  sober  fancies,  as  any  of  my 
neighbours. 

Your  country  ball  is  quite  a  different  sort  of  thing  from  that  of 
the  fashionable  city.  It  is  more  distinguished  by  abandon.  There 
is  a  less  feelinjx  of  restraint  in  the  one  situation  than  the  other. 
Nobody  is  critical,  there  are  few  or  no  strangei"s,  not  sufficient  to 
check  mirth  or  irritate  self-esteem,  and  the  heels  fairly  take  entire 
possession  of  the  head.  I  had  not  been  in  such  a  glow  for  months. 
I  had  not  conjectured  the  extent  of  my  own  agility,  and  Beatrice 
swam  through  the  circle,  proudly  and  gracefully,  as  the  Queen  of 
Sheba,  over  the  mirrored  avenues  (according  to  the  Rabbinical 
tradition)  of  Solomon. 

"  You  are  a  lucky  dog,  Dick,"  whispered  the  Major  in  my  ears. 
"  Your  partner  is  worthy  to  be  an  Empress.  That  scamp  of  a 
son  of  mine,  he  has  possessed  himself  of  that  little  French  devil, 
in  spite  of  all  I  could  say.  Just  look  at  her,  what  a  little,  insig- 
nificant thing  she  is — yet  she  can  dance — but  that  is  French,  of 
course.  See  how  she  whirls — egad  I  she  can  dance — she  goes 
through  the  circle  like  a  bird. .  But  to  dance  well,  Dick,  don't 
make  the  fine  woman !  No !  no !  Deuce  take  the  fellow  that 
has  no  eyes  for  a  proper  object." 

I  was  whirled  away  at  this  moment,  but  when  I  got  back  to 
my  place,  he  was  there  still,  continuing  his  running  commentary. 
"  Look  at  Mrs.  Methuselah,  there — the  stiff  embodiment  of 
Gallic  dignity  in  the  days  of  Louis  lo  Grand — I  mean,  Madame 
Agnes-Theresa.  Oh!  she's  a  beauty.  See  how  she  smiles  and 
simpers,  as  if  she  thought  so  herself.  I  suppose,  however,  it's 
only  her  pride  that's  delighted  at  the  fine  evolutions  of  her  little 
French  apology  tor  a  woman.  And  see,  Ned,  the  rascal — he  seea 
7* 


^8  TBB   GOLDEN   OBBXtTlCAS. 


nobody  but  her.  He  does  not  dream  that  I  am  watcbing  bim  all 
tbo  while.  I  fancy,  by  the  way,  he  does  not  greatly  care  I  But 
ril  astonish  him  yet,  Dick,  you  shall  see !  If  he  vexes  me,  Til 
marry  again,  by  all  that's  beautiful !" 

Well  might  the  soul  of  Ned  13ulmor  be  ravished  out  of  hit 
eyes.  Paula  Bonneau  is  certainly  the  most  exquisite  little  fairy 
on  the  wing  in  a  ball-room,  tliat  ever  eye-sight  strove  in  vain  to 
follow.  Never  sylph  wandered  or  floated  along  the  sands  under 
tie  hallowing  moon-light  and  the  breathing  spells  of  the  sweet 
south,  with  a  more  witchlike  or  bewitching  motion.  She  was  the 
observed  of  all  observei-s ;  and  it  was  a  perfect  study  itself,  ap- 
pealing to  the  gentle  and  amiable  heart,  to  behold  the  rapt  de- 
light in  her  stiff  old  grand  dame's  eyes,  as  she  followed  her  little 
figure  every  whore  through  the  mazes  of  the  dance.  At  that  mo- 
ment, the  old  lady's  heart  was  in  good  humour  with  all  the  world. 
She  even  smiled  on  Major  Buhner  tw  ho  approached,  though,  the 
instant  after,  meeting  with  a  profound  and  stately  bow  from  him, 
she  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  lifted  her  fan  slowly,  with 
moa-^ured  evolutions  before   lior  face,  and  seemed  to  bo  counting 

the  number  of  luntres  in  the  chandelier. 

I 

"  What  a  conceited,  consequential  old  fool  1"  muttered  the  Ma- 
jor,  as  he  passed  onward.  "  Strange  I  that  poor  old  French  wo- 
man actually  persuades  herself  that  she  is  a  human  being,  and  of 
really  the  fairest  sort  of  material." 

Had  he  heard  the  unspoken  comment  of  Madame  Girardin  at  the 
same  moment  upon  himself  I 

"It is  certainly  very  singular  that  you  can  never  make  a  gentle- 
man of  an  Englishman.  Physically,  they  are  certainly  well  made 
people,  next  to  the  French.  Mentally,  they  are  capable  in  sundry 
departments.  They  are  undoubtedly  brave,  and,  if  the  French 
Were  extinct,  niiglit  bo  aeck>unt<id  the  bravest  of  living  niccs.  They 
have  wealth  and  numerous  old  families,  but  all  derived  from  ihi 
JjJorman  French.     Still,  there  is  a  something  wanting,  without 


J>r. 


HOW   WE   DANCED,  AND    8UPPED,  AND    80 FORTH  I  Y9 


which  there  can  bo  no  grace  or  refinement.  They  have  the  man* 
ners  of  oxen, — Bulls, — hence  the  name  of  John  Bull,  the  propriety 
of  which  they  themselves  acknowledge.  You  cannot  make  them 
gentlemen  by  any  process." 

But  these  mutual  snarlcrs  and  satirists  did  not  disturb  the  pro- 
gress of  the  ball.  My  next  partner  was  Paula  Bonneau.  I  looked 
to  see  with  whom  Ned  Bulmer  had  united  his  dancing  destinies, 
curious  to  ascertain  how  {wx  ho  was  disposed  to  comply  with  the 
wishes  of  his  father ;  but  he  was  no  where  that  I  could  see,  while 
Beatrice  might  be  beheld  floating  away  like  a  swan  with  my  friend, 
Gourdin.  The  Major  came  up  to  me  in  one  of  the  j^auses  of  the 
drama. 

"  That  cub  of  mine,"  says  he,  "  has  let  the  game  escape  him 
again.  I  could  wring  his  neck  for  him.  Tie  is  now  hopping  it 
with  Monimia  Porcher, — dancing  with  every  body  but  the  person 
with  whom  I  wish  him  to  dance.     What  does  he  not  deserve  !" 

And  so  the  time  passed  till  the  short  hours  wore  towards ;  and 
then  between  12  and  1,  the  supper  signal  was  given,  when  we  all 
marched  into  the  basement.  1  had  secured  the  arm  of  Beatrice 
Mazyck  in  the  procession  ;  and  when  1  entered  the  supper  saloon, 
conspicuous  near  the  head  of  the  table  was  Ned  Bulmer,  supplying 
the  plate  of  Paula  Bonneau.  The  Major  saw  him  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, and  was  evidently  no  longer  able  to  control  his  chagrin.  He 
looked  all  sorts  of  terrors.  Mars  never  wore  fiercer  visage  on  a 
frosty  night.  His  fury  lost  him  his  supper,  but  he  drank  like  a 
Turk  in  secret  Beaker  after  beaker  of  rosy  champagne  was  filled' 
and  emptied,  and  when  I  returned  up  stairs  with  my  fair  compan- 
ion, 1  left  him  with  the  young  men  still  busy  below  at  the  bottle. 
When  he  came  above,  which  was  some  half  an  hour  after,  he 
abruptly  strode  across  the  parlour  to  the  spot  where  Ned  was  still 
in  attendance  upon  Paula. 

"Come,  sir,"  said  he,  "if  you  mean  to  drive  me  home  to-night 


y» 


69 


h 


TRI   OOlDEir   OHRItTMAS. 


■^, 


I  am  ready — and  your  buggy  is  ready,  sir, — I  have  already  or- 
dered it." 

Ned  was  disquieted  at  the  summons,  but  he  quickly  saw  that 
thooldnmu'w  nMrv<)%  wcru  dlHordornd  by  tho.wlno,  and  the  flUal 
duty  of  the  son  became  instantly  active,  prompting  him  to  take 
him  off,  lest  other  eyes  should  see  his  condition  as  clearly  as  hia 
own.     Ho  said  cheerfully — 

•*  I  am  also  ready,  sir,  and  will  only  make  my  bow  to  Mrs. 
Mazyck." 

"Bow  bo ;!"  muttered  the  Major.     "You've  been  bowing 

it  all  night  with  a  vengeance." 

This  was  scarccjly  heard  by  more  than  the  son  and  myself.     Ilia 
sister,  Miss  Buhner,  upon  whom  I  was  in  attendance,  now  came  up. 
"Brother,''  naiil  hIui,  "hiulii't  you  Ijuttor  take  a  Heat  with  uh  in 
the  ciirriago,  and  lot  Ned  drive  home  with  Tony  only." 

"And  why,  pray,"  he  responded  sharply,  "should  I  change  any 
of  my  plans  i  Am  I  so  old  as  to  need  back  supporters  and  cush- 
ions ?  or  do  you  fear  that  I  shall  catch  rheumatism  ?  lihoumatism 
never  ran  in  my  family.  No  !  no !  I  drive  home  lis  I  came — in  the 
buggy." 

Thoro  was  no  mor9  to  bo  said.     The  Major,  giving  himself  a 

fair  start,  crossed  the  room  to  Mi*s.  Mazyck  and  Beatrice,  and  to 

each  severally,  in  the  deliberate  style  of  King  Charles's  courtiers, 

made  his  elaborate  bow,  the  ngli?  loot  thrown  back  and  toe  turned 

out,  as  the  base  of  the  operation,  a- A  the  left  foot  drawn  with  a 

sweep,  so  as  to  lodge  its  heel  almost  within  the  inner  curve  of  the 

right:  arms  describing  the  well  known  half  circle,  and  body  bent 

forward,  so  as  to  enable  the  hands,  if  they  so  wished  it,  to  rest 

upon  the  knees.     And  the  operation  was  over,  and  Ned  and  sire 

passed  out  of  sight,  leaving  Miss  Buhner  in  my  charge.     We  did 

not  linger  long  after.     I  had  a  few  more  sweet  words  to  exchange 

with  Beatrice — who  treated  me,  evidently,  with  a  greater  degree  of 

kindness  than  her  good  mother  was  prepared  to  smile  upon — and 


WHAT   TURNS    UP    ON    A    DRIVE,  AND    WHO    TURNS    OVER.      81 

■ r 

to  roll  forfh  sundry  sentences  of  rotund  compliment  to  ^fadamo 
Agnes-Theresa,  upon  the  performances  o^  I\iuh\,  whos*?  bright 
eyes  returned  their  acknowledgments  for  a  verj-  difierent  soil  of  ser- 
vice. They  took  their  departure  before  us,  and.  I  saw  them  to  tho 
carriage.  It  appears  that  Mrs.  Mazyck  had  some  private  words 
with  Miss  Bulmer,  and  detained  her  after  the  departure  of  most  of 
the  guests.  Of  course,  I  did  not  scniple  to  enjoy  a  corresponding 
ttte-a-ttle  with  Beatrice,  and  had  no  complaints  to  make  of  the 
delay.  This  was  much  shorter  than  I  could  have  wished,  and,  all 
too  soon,  I  found  myself  in  the  carriage  with  Miss  Bulmer,  and 
hurrying  off  for  *' The  Barony."  Before  we  reached  that  place, 
however,  other  adventures  were  destined  to  occur,  and  those  of  a 
sort  to  require  a  chapter  to  themselves. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

WHAT  TURNS  UP  ON  A  DRIVE,  AND  WHO. TURNS  OVER. 

To  drive  by  night,  two  or  four  in  hand,  through  our  dim  but 
picturesque  avenues  of  pine,  faintly  lighted  only  by  moon  or  stars, 
is  an  operation  that  is  apt  to  trj^  the  nerves  and  skill  of  the  city 
bred  Jehu,  accustomed  only  to  broad  streets,  under  the  full  blazo 
of  gas  lamps  every  fifty  yards.  But  to  the  country  gentleman,  the 
thing  is  as  familiar  as  one's  garter,  and  without  a  thought  of  acci-^ 
dents,  he  will  start  for  home  at  midnight,  the  darkest  night,  or 
drive  to  a  frolic  five  or  ten  miles  off,  and  never  give  the  mere  com- 
passing of  that  distance  a  moment's  consideration.  .\lPersons  bred 
in  the  country  see  farther  and  better  than  citizens.  So  do  sailors. 
Neither  of  these  classes,  accustomed  to  broad  and  spacious  land  and 
water  scopes,  is  ever  troubled  with  the  infirmity  of  neareightedness. 
This  belongs  wholly  to  city  life,  where  the  eye,  from  the  earliest 


•^ 


82  THE   OOLDSN   0HRI6T1CAB,  i" 


period,  is  made  familiar  to  certain  bounds,  high-walled  streets  and 
contracted  chambera.  A  faculty  grows  from  its  use  and  exercise, 
and  is  more  or  less  enfeebled  by  non-user.  The  eye,  tasked  only 
within  certain  limits,  loses  the  capacity  to  extend  its  range  of  vision 
when  the  occasion  requires  it.  The  muscles  contract,  and  the 
shape  of  the  eye  itself  undergoes  a  change  corresponding  imme-- 
diately  with  the  sort  of  use  which  is  given  it.     But,  I  digress. 

Exercised  in  the  woods,  night  and  day,  the  country  gentleman 
never  hesitates  about  the  darkness,  and  starts  for  home,  at  all 
hours.     Nobody,  therefore,  leaving  the  party  at  Mrs.  Mazyck's, 
between  one  and  two  in  the  morning,  ever  regarded  the  lateness  of 
the  hour  as  a  reason  for  not  departing.     Some  few  old  ladies  re- 
mained at   Mazyck  Place  all  night.     The  rest,  in    backwoods 
parlance,  ^put  outy  as  soon  as  supper  was  fairly  over.     Some  had 
a  mile  or  two  only  to  go,  and  otliei's  found  quarters  among  the 
neighbours,  as  is  the  custom  of  the  country  everywhere  in  the 
South.     Others  pushed  on  for  home,  and  some  few  went  proba- 
bly eight  or  ten  miles.     We  had  barely  five  to  go,  and  counted  it 
as  nothing.     The  night  was  clear  but  dark.     The  stars  gave  but  a 
faint  light,  sprinkling  their  pale  beams  upon  us  through  crowding 
tree  tops.     The  young  moon  had  gone  down  early ;  but  the  horses 
knew  the  way  as  'svell   as  the  driver,  or  better,   and  were  bound 
homewaids.     Ours  was  a  negro  driver,  and  one  of  that  class,  with 
owl  faculty  and  visage,  which  sees  rather  better  in  the  night  than 
the  day.     It  was  this  faculty,  rather  than  his  personal  beauty, 
which  secured  for  Jehu — that  was  really  his  name — the  honour- 
ablo  place  of  coachman  to  Miss  Bulmer.     Off  we  went  spinningly, 
whirling  out  of  the  court  and  into  the  open  road  at  a  keen  pace, 
which  promised  to  bear  us  home  in  short  order.     Miss  B.,  well 
wrapped  up,  occupied  the  back  seat  of  the  carriage.     I  took  my 
place  with  Jehu,  preferring  a  mouthful  of  the  cool,  bracing  air  of 
morning.     Merrily  danced  the  pines  beside  us, — oaks  nodded  to 
us,  doffing  their  green  turbans  as  we  sped ;  now  we  rolled  through 


WHAT  TtTRNS   XTP    ON   A    DRIVE,  AND   WHO   TtTRNS    OVER.      83 


a  little  sand  hill,  now  we  dn^^hed  the  waters  up  from  the  bottom 
of  a  sandy  brooklet.  The  faint  light  of  the  stars  gives  a  strange, 
wild  beauty  to  such  a  scene  and  drive,  and  I  was  lost  in  mixed 
meditations,  in  which  groves  were  found  pleasantly  convenient, 
and  through  which  I  caught  glimpses  of  a  damsel,  well  veiled, 
coming  to  meet  me,  when  I  was  disturbed  in  my  reveries  by  Jehu 
suddenly  pulling  up  the  horses,  and  coming  to  a  dead  halt. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jehu  ?"" 

"  There's  a  break  down  here,  sir,"  quoth  he,  calling  to  the  boy 
to  descend,  who  rode  behind  the  carriage, — "  Go  look,  boy,  see 
what's  happen." 

I  could  now  distinguish  a  carriage  ahead,  and  a  confused  group 
beyond  it.  A  lantern  was  borne  in  the  hands  of  some  person  who 
seemed  moving  with  it  across  tlie  road.  Of  course,  I  leapt  down 
in  a  moment,  and,  begging  Miss  Bulmer  to  keep  quiet,  and  bid- 
ding Jehu  keep  back,  I  went  forward  to  see  into  the  extent  of  the 
misfortune,  and  ascertain  who  were  the  sufferers  by  it.  This  waa 
quickly  kno^^^l ; — but,  perhaj^s,  I  had  better  go  back  in  my  history, 
and  report  the  progress  of  those  whom  the  matter  most  concerned. 
I  give  particulars,  now,  which  I  gathered  subsequently  from  certain 
of  the  parties. 

It  appears  that,  from  the  moment  of  starting  with  his  son,  Major 
Bulmer  began  reproaching  him  with  his  conduct  during  the  eve- 
ning, and  his  neglect  of  Miss  Mazyck.  He  barely  suffered  the 
buggy  to  get  out  of  the  court  yard  and  into  the  main  road,  when 
his  indignation  broke  forth  into  angry  words. 

"  Well,  sir;  and  how  do  you  propose  to  excuse  your  conduct  this 
evening."  '.  . 

"  My  conduct,  sir  ?  I  don't  understand  you.  I  really  flattered 
myself  that  I  had  been  doing  the  handsome  thing  all  the  evening, 
making  myself  very  agreeable  all  round,  and  certainly  jfinding  a 
great  deal  that  was  greatly  agreeable  to  myselfl" 


'■l> 


...,  ■-*,.  " 

4    i- 

w 

ffiB   OOLDeN   OHR!eT]IAB< 

\ 


84 

"  You  are  a  puppy,  sir,  and  a  fool,  with  your  aclf-complaisanoe< 
I  can  tell  you  that,  sir."  «  ^ 

"  Choice  epithets,  certainly,  and  very  comphmentary.*' 

**  Well,  sir,  you  deserve  them.    Why  do  you  provoke  me  f*     '^ 

"  You  provoke  yourself,  father.  Speaking  reasonably,  sir,  I  see 
nothing  of  which  you  can  properly  complain  in  my  conduct." 

"Indeed,  sir;  and  who,  pray,  taught  you  to  sj^eak  reasonably. 
No  man,  sir,  speaks  reasonably,  unless  he  thinks  rationally." 

"  A  logical  conclusion,  truly." 

"  So  it  is, — and  no  man  who  acts  hke  a  fool,  can  be  held  a  rea* 
Boning  animal." 

"  True,  again,  logically." 

"  I  say,  sir^  you  are  a  dolt,  a  mere  driveller,  committing  suicide 
morally,  and  striving  against  those  who  would  help  you  out  of 
deep  water." 

"  Who  would  drown  me  rather — deny  me  the  privilege  to  swim 
in  the  places  which  I  most  prefer." 

"  Hear  me,  Ned  Bulmer, — why  do  you  not  hsten  to  what  Fm 
Baying  ?" 

*'  I  have  been  listeiiing,  sir,  very  patiently.     Go  ahead !" 

*' Go  ahead!  Why  will  you,  sir,  knowing  your  family  and 
breeding,  indulge  in  those  vile  samples  of  Western  slang  ?  Speak 
like  a  gentleman,  sir,  even  if  you  do  not  understand  how  to  behave 
hke  one !', 

Ned  said  nothing,  gave  the  horse  the  goad,  and  waited  for  the 
next  volley. 

*'  Well,  sir ;  after  what  I  siiid  to  you  on  our  way  to  Mrs.  Ma- 
zyckV, — after  a  full  showing  to  you  of  what  I  desired — what  did 
you  mean,  sir,  by  so  entirely  slighting  my  wishes  ?" 

"  Your  wishes  were  not  mine,  sir,"  answered  Ned  very  coolly, 

"  and  even  if  they  were,  sir,  a  ball  room,  though  a  very  good  place 

for  a  flirtation,  is  not  exactly  the  ticene  for  a  boiia  fide  courtship." 

"  I  may  grant  you  that,  sir,  but  I  did  not  ask  that  you  would 


WHAT   TtTRNS    UP    ON    A    DRIVE,  AND    WitO   TURNS    OVER.       86 


X^'ould  make  it  the  pcene  of  a  courtship,     I  only  nsked  that  you 
would  ofibr  such  civilities  and  attentions  to  Miss  Mazyck, — " 

"  As  she,  her  mother,  and  everybody  else  might  construe  to 
mean  courts^hip." . 

"  You  will  oblige  me  not  to  finish  my  sentences  for  me,  sir.  I 
say,  Edward  Bulmor,  that  you  were  not  even  decently  civil  to  Mrs. 
Mazyck  and  daughter." 

"  There  I  must  deny  you,  sir.     The  matter  is  one  of  opinion. 
^         I  contend  that  I  was  as  civil,  considerate  and  respectful  in  my  at- 
tentions to  both  the  ladies,  as  the  elder  had  a  right  to  require,,and 
the  younger  desired  to  receive." 

"  And  how  know  you,  sir,  what  the  younger  desired  to  receive  ?" 

"  By  infidlible  instincts.  The  fact  is,  father,  it  is  of  no  use  to 
trouble  me  or  yourself  in  regard  to  Beatrice  Mazyck.  I  assure 
you,  sir,  that  every  body  sees,  if  you  do  not,  that  another  man  has 
won  her  heart." 

"  You  mean  Dick  Cooper.". 

"  I  do." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  have  Dick's  assurance,  from  his  own  lips,  that 
there  have  been  no  love  passages  between  them  ;  that  they  are  en- 
tirely uncommitted  to  each  other." 

"  And  no  doubt  what  Dick  told  you,  sir,  is  perfectly  true ;  but 
things  have  changed  since  your  day,  sir.  People  have  become 
more  refined  and  less  formal.  It  don't  need,  now-a-days,  to  make 
a  declaration  in  words  in  order  to  be  understood.  In  your  day, 
when  all  gentlemen  were  moulded  upon  one  model,  and  all  affec- 
tions spoke  through  one  medium,  and  after  a  particular  form — 
when,  in  fact,  the  affections  were  not  recognized  at  all — and  when 
father  or  mother  could  swap  off  their  children  as  the  condition  by 
which  alone  they  could  unite  certain  acres  of  swamp  and  uplands, — 
Buch  an  intercourse  as  that  of  Beatrice  Mazzyck  and  Dick  Cooper 
would  pass  for  nothing.  MaiSy  nous  avons  change  tout  cela  P^ 
"  Ah  1  d — n  that  gibberish.  Speak  in  English  if  you  will  speak. 
8 


*  ■     *r  -;a 


^^ 


% 


86  THE   OOLDEK   OmilSTMAfl. 


Though,  by  the  way,  speaking  such  consummato  nonsense  and 
stuff  as  you  do,  perhaps  French  is  the  proper  dialect  Well,  sir, 
■what  more  ; — use  what  Ungo  you  please."  *-. 

"  Oh  !  sir,  any  thing  to  please  you.  I  have  few  more  words  to 
say ;  and  I  do  say,  that,  though  no  words  ma}'  have  been  exchanged 
between  Beatrice  Mazyck  and  Dick  Cooper  on  the  subject,  yet 
their  hearts,  sir,  are  as  irrevocably  engaged,  as  if  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Hymen,  of  the  old  Greek  Church,  had  been  called  in  to  officiate. 
Hearts,  sir,  have  a  language  in  our  day,  which  waa  denied  them  in 
yours.  Perhaps  this  is  one  of  the  redeeming  features  of  ultra 
democracy  I" 

"  You  have  talked  a  long  farrago  of  nonsense,  Edward  Bulmer, 
in  which,  as  far  as  I  can  perceive,  you  have  aimed  at  nothing  more 
than  to  accumulate  together  all  those  topics  which,  in  their  nature, 
might  offend  me.  I  will  meditate  this  hereafter.  To  make  my 
complaints  of  your  conduct  more  specific,  why,  sir,  did  you  attach  i^. 
yourself  the  whole  evening  to  the  Bonneau  faction,  neglecting 
wholly  Mi-s.  Mazyck  and  her  daughter." 

"  Your  charge  is  not  more  specific  now  than  before.  It  is  quite 
as  easily  answered.     I  join  issue  with  you  on  the  fact,  sir," 

"  What,  do  you  question  my  word  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  by  no  means, — only  the  correctness  of  your  opinion." 

"  Sir,  it  is  a  matter  of  mere  testimony.  I  beheld  it  with  my  own 
eyes." 

"  Your  eyes  deceived  you,  father." 

"  How,  sir  ?  Did  you  not  dance  repeatedly  with  Miss  Bonneau  ?" 

"  I  did,  sir." 

"  Did  you  ever  dance  once  with  Miss  Mazyck  ?" 

"  I  did  not,  sir." 

"  Well,  sir ; — yet  you  persist  that  you  were  attentive  to  the  latter 
lady." 

"  I  do,  sir,  as  far  as  it  was  possible.     I  proposed  to  dance  with 


WHAT   TURNS    UP    ON    A    DRIVE,  AND   WHO   TURNS    OVER.      87 


her,  and  she  was  engaged.     This  sir,  on  two  occasions — quite  often 
enough,  I  think,  to  try  a  lady's  mood  towards  you." 

"  Edward  Bulmer,  is  it  possible  that  you  resort  to  evasion!  Sir, 
I  know  too  well  what  is  the  practice  with  young  men,  where  they 
wish  to  escape  a  duty.  In  my  day,  sir,  and  I  confess  I  was  guilty 
of  this  conduct  myself,  it  was  not  unfrequently  the  trick — irickj  I 
I  say,  sir,  (rick/ — to  ask  a  lady  after  she  was  known  to  be  engaged 
for  the  coming  set.  Now,  sir,  answer  me  honestly,  was  not  this 
your  trick,  sir,  on  this  occasion." 

"  A  practice  deemed  honourable  in  your  day,  cannot  surely  be 
regarded  as  discreditable ;  and  I  have  now  only  to  plead  your  own 
example,  sir,  if  I  desired  to  escape  your  anger.  But,  in  truth,  sir, 
I  did  not,  on  any  occasion,  knoiv  that  Miss  Mazyck  was  engaged 
to  another  partner  when  I  asked." 

"  But  you  conjectured  it,  sir, — you  kept  of!  untill  the  last  mo- 
ment, sir.  You  well  know  that  Beatrice  Mazyck  is  not  likely  to 
hang  as  a  wall-flower,  and  you  gave  everybody  the  desired  oppor- 
tunity, sir.  Edward  Bulmer,  it  was  a  mere  mockery  of  Miss  Ma- 
zyck, to  solicit  her  hand  when  you  did." 

"  She,  I  fancy,  was  very  well  pleased  with  that  sort  of  mockery.'' 

"  Sir,  did  you  every  on  any  one  occasion,  oflfer  yourself  to  her 
-  for  the  second  or  third  dance,  when  she  pleaded  previous  engage- 
ment.   That,  sir,  is  a  common  custom  with  young  gentlemen — is 
it  not." 

"  Yes,  sir, — and  one  more  honoured  in  the  breach  than  the  ob- 
servance. I  don't  approve  of  it  myself^  and  don't  encourage  it  in 
others." 

"  You  don't,  eh  !  Well,  sir,  I  made  you  a  special  request  that 
you  would  see  Miss  Mazyck  to  the  supper-table.  Why  did  you 
not?" 

"  Dick  Cooper  was  before  me,  sir." 

"  Dick  Cooper  before  you !  Yes,  indeed,  he  will  go.  before  yon 
all  your  life;    That  man  will  be  somebody  yet.    Not  a  mere  Jehu 


<**'"V 


88 


,1» 


THE   GOLDEN    CHRISTMAS.    \^^f^ 


or  Jockey,  sir.  He  will  not  waste  his  life^  among  the  pumpkins.  I 
would  to  God  he  could  drive  into  your  empty  noddle  some  of  that 
good  sense  and  proper  veneration  which  distinguish  himself." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  will  admit  that  if  Vm  unworthy  of  Miss  Mazyck, 
he  is  not." 

"  Who  says  you  are  unworthy,  sir  I" 

"  My  humility,  sir." 

"  D n  your  humility.   I  wish  you  knew  how  to  exercise  it  in 

the  right  place.  You  are  a  puppy  and  a  scrub,  and  fit  only  for 
such  a  petty  little  French  popinjay  as  that — " 

"  Stop  now,  father,  or  I'll  be  sure  to  upset  you  !  If  you  speak 
disrespectfully  of  Paula  Bonncau,  you  will  certainly  so  outrage  my 
nervous  sensibility,  that  I  shall  turn  the  buggy  over  into  the  first 
bramble  bush  that  J  see ;  and  then,  sir,  you'll  be  in  the  condition  of 
the  man  who  lost  both  his  eyes  in  a  similar  situation.  You  re- 
member the  patlietic  ditty — 

"  And  when  ho  saw  hi8  eyes  were  out, 
Wiih  all  his  might  and  main. 
He  jump'd  into  another  bush, 
And  scratch'd  *em  in  again." 

But  that  feat's  not  to  be  pei-formed  every  day.  You  might  try 
from  bush  to  bush  between  hero  and  home,  and  fail  to  scratch  back 
your  pupils." 

"  Pshaw — you  blockhead !  But  where  the  deuce  are  you  driv- 
ing, sir  ?     You  are  out  of  the  road." 

"  No,  sir, — I  am  in  the  road  far  enough.  I  confess  I'm  on  the 
look-out  for  the  briai  patch ;  and  should  I  see  one, " 

"  Zounds,  man,  you  are  out  of  the  road.  I  see  the  track  to  the 
left." 

"  No,  sir,  it  runs  to  the  right.  I  see  it  well  enough.  Don't 
touch  the  reins,  sir, — you'll  do  mischief." 

."  Do  mischief !  You  would  teach  your  grandmother  how  to 
eat  her  eggs,  would  you  ?     Teach  me  to  drive  I     You  would  pro- 


^ 


I 


WHAT   TURNS   UP    ON    A    DUIVK,  AND    WHO   TURNS    OVER.       89 


voice  a  saint,  Ned  Bulmer !     Give  me  the  reins,  or  you  will  have 
us  in  the  woods." 

"  Fear  nothing,  sir ;  I  see  exactly  where  I  am  going.  I  see  the 
road  perfectly,  every  step  of  it  1" 

"  You  see  nothing,  sir,  I  tell  you,  but  your  own  perverse  dispo- 
sition to  foil  me  in  every  thing.  If  I  did  not  know,  sir,  that  you 
are  a  temperate  man,  I  should  suspect  you  of  taking  quite  too 
much  champagne  to-night" 

Ned  Bulmer  could  not  resist  the  disposition  to  chuckle. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  laugh,  sir  ?     There,  again, — you 
will  have  us  in  the  woods.     It  is  either  your  hands  that  are  un- 
steady, or  it  is  your  hoi-se  that  shies  ?" 

"  Isn't  it  barely  possible,  sir,  that  it  is  the  stars  that  shy  ?"  was 
the  response  of  Ned,  conveying  thus  what  was  designed  to  be  a 
very  sly  insinuation.  But  the  Major's  faculties  had  not  been  so 
much  bedevilled  as  his  eye  sight.  He  caught  the  equivocal  im- 
port of  the  suggestion  in  a  moment. 

"  Really,  sir,  this  is  most  insolent.  You  are  drunk,  sir,  posi- 
tively drunk,  and  will  break  both  our  necks,  in  this  atrocious 
bug^-y.     Give  me  the  reins,  I  tell  you." 

"  Hold  off,  father,"  cried  the  son  earnestly ;  "  we  are  going  right. 
There  is  no  danger,  but  the  road  here  is  narrow  and  the  fence  on 
the  left  is  pretty  close." 

"  Fence  on  the  left !  Where  the  d—1  do  you  see  any  fence  on 
the  left?     Where  do  you  think  we  are,  sir ?" 

This  was  the  first  time  that  Ned  suspected  that  his  father's  sight 
was  becominfr  bad.     He  knew  not  whether  to  ascribe  it  to  his  own 
age,  or  that  of  the  wine. 
"  At  Gervais's  corner." 

"  Pshaw !  we  have  passed  it  long  ago.  You  are  in  no  condition 
to  drive.     That's  plain  enough." 

With  the  words  he  grasped  one  of  the  reins  furiously,  whirled 
the  tender-mouthed  grey  round  before  Ned  could  guard  against  the 
8* 


i^  i-         '  » 


^.  6*i^^ 


90    ^  THE   OOtDXK   OtmiSTMAS. 


proceeding,  and  in  a  moment,  striking  the  comer  of  the  rail  fenc^^ 
the  buggy  was  turned  over,  and  the  horse  off  with  it.  The  Major 
made  a  sudden  evolution  in  the  air  and  came  down  heavily  against 
the  fence.  Ned  was  pitched  in  among  the  pines,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  road,  and  both  lay  for  a  time  insensible. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

▲  GROUP  ON  THE  HIGHWAY.      A  NEW  STUDY  FOR  THE  PAINTER. 

I 

It  is  not  yet  known  how  long  the  father  and  son  lay  in  this  con- 
dition before  they  received  assistance.  They  were  first  discovered 
by  the  coachman  of  Madame  Agnes-Therese  Girardin,  as  he  drove 
tliat  lady  and  her  grund-daughtcr  wlovyly  home  from  the  ball. 

"  Wha'  dis  yer  ?"  quoth  Antony,  the  coachman.  "  I  see  some- 
thing in  de  road." 

"  What  do  you  see,  Antony  ?"  demanded  the  lady. 

"  I  yer  somebody  da  grunt,"  quoth  Tony.  "  He's  a  piisson — 
(person) — he's  a  mar  for  certain." 

"  A  man  in  the  road,  groaning!"  said  the  old  lady,  "  Peter  ! 
Peter!" — to  tho  boy  riding  behind.  Antony  drew  up  his  horses  at 
a  full  stop.     Peter  jumped  down  and  came  forward. 

'  Take  one  o^  the  lumps,  Peter,  and  see  who  is  lying  in  the 
road." 

The  urchin  moved  promptly,  and,  hurrying  forward,  stooped 
over  one  of  the  victims,  holding  tho  light  cIohu  to  his  face.  lie 
came  back  instantly. 

"  Its  Mjuis  Ned  liullhnor,  mlsHis." 

"Mr.  Exlward  Bulmer !"  said  the  ancient  lady,  and  she  hemmed 
thrice  and  began  violently  to  agitate — her  fan. 

"  Edward  1 — Edward  Bulmer !"  cried  the  young  lady,  almost 


A    OROtTP    ON   THE    ItlOlIWAT.  91 


with  a  scream,  beginning  violently  to  agitate — herself.    "  Oh  I  mam,' 
ma,  let  lis  get  out  and  see.     He  is  hurt.     He  is  killed." 

"  No,  Miss  Paula,  he  aint  dead  yet, — he  da  gnmt."  This  was 
meant  to  be  consolatory. 

"  Be  quiet,  Paula,  my  child ;  do  not  excite  yourself — we  will 
see — we  will  inquire.     But — "     , 

"  Open  the  door,  Peter !"  cried  Paula,  with  an  energy  and  resolu- 
tion which  she  did  not  ordinarily  exhibit^  and  of  which  the  old 
lady  did  not  altogether  approve,  though  the  occasion  was  one 
which  did  not  allow  of  any  deliberation.  Peter,  meanwhile,  opened 
the  door  of  the  carriage,  and  the  young  lady  darted  out. 

"  Stay,  Paula,  stay,  till  I  get  my  cologne,  and — " 

But  the  damsel  was  off,  and  a  bound  brought  her  to  the  side  of 
her  lover,  stretched  out  partly  upon  the  road,  his  shoulder  resting 
against  a  pine  sapling.  She  knelt  beside  him,  called  to  him  with 
the  tenderest  accents,  and  was  answered  by  a  groan.  These  groans 
were  signs  of  returning  consciousness,  at  once  to  suffering  and  life. 
Meanwhile,  the  good  grandmother  had  hobbled  out,  and  approached 
the  scene  of  action ;  a  bottle  of  cologne  water  in  one  hand  and  her 
vinaigrette  in  the  other. 

"  Rub  his  head,  my  daughter,  and  sprinkle  him  with  cologne ; 
hold  this  vinaigrette  to  his  nostrils,  and  tell  him  to  snuff." 

Another  groan,  and  then  the  maiden  heard  him  in  faint  ac- 
cents say — "  My  father — see — my  father." 

"  His  father !  Oh  1  Major  Bulmer,"  quoth  the  old  lady.  "  Yes, 
they  went  away  together.'* 

"  In  de  buggy,  missis,"  interposed  the  knowing  Peter.  He  him- 
self had  opened  the  gate  for  the  buggy,  and  had  received  a  shil- 
ling for  his  attentions. 

"  Look  for  him,  Peter,"  said  the  old  lady — and  she  muttered  to 
herself^  as  if  to  justify  her  humanity,  "  He  is  one  of  God's  crea- 
tures, at  least ;  it  is  our  Christian  duty  only."  And  with  these 
words  she  followed  Peter  in  his  search. 


-a 


02  THE    OQLDEN   OHBISTMAB.  .. 


'"*V* 


The  Major  was  found  in  the  fence  corner,  lying  partly  acroM  one 
of  the  ataken,  whicli  hin  weight  had  broken,  his  head  etriking 
against  a  rail.  The  old  lady  was  quite  terrified  when  she  beheld 
him.  His  head  had  been  cut,  an  ugly  gash,  ranging  from  the 
upper  part  of  one  ear  to  the  temples.  He  was  still  bleeding  freely. 
Antony  was  immediately  sumnjonod  to  bring  the  other  lamp  of 
the  curringo,  v.hilo  Peter  wjw  made  to  mount  one  of  the  horses, 
in  order  to  ride  back  for  Dr.  Porcher,  who  was  at  the  party,  and 
who,  it  was  hoped,  might  be  still  found  there.  Madame  Agnes- 
Therese,  in  the  meanwhile,  to  her  credit  be  it  said,  forgetting  old 
prejudices  and  anti]>athies,  forgetting  all  forms  and  rcHtraints,  and 
stitViioMHos  and  formalition,  kneeling  beside  the  insenftible  Major, 
proceeded  to  staunch  the  blood  aiid  close  the  wound.  She  had 
lived  a  long  time  in  tlie  world,  and  had  acquired  much  of  that 
household  practical  knowledge  and  dexterity  which  enables  one 
to  be  useful  in  almost  any  emergency.  And  she  pursued  her  pre- 
sent labour  with  a  good  deal  of  skill  and  success.  The  vinaigrette 
and  the  cologne  were  passed  from  jjatient  to  patient,  as  they  mo- 
verally  seemed  most  to  need  it.  Antony  W2is  despatched  to  the 
branchy  or  brooklet,  which  they  had  passed  only  a  few  moments 
before,  to  bring  his  carnage  bucket  full  of  water.  Tlie  faces  of 
the  two  were  sprinkled  with  water,  cologne  poured  into  their 
moutliM,  and  both  soenjed  to  revive  about  the  samo  time.  The 
lirst  words  of  tlio  father  were  hignilicant  of  qviito  a  dill'erent  feeling 
from  that  which  he  exhibited  duiing  the  unlucky  drive. 

"  Ned,  my  dear  boy  ;  Ned,  are  you  hurt  T' 

The  old  lady,  holding  the  lamp  up  to  Iiis  face,  endeavoured  to 
prcHH  him  down,  in  order  to  kcej*  him  quiet. 

"Do  not  H[)eak;  do  not  agitate  yourwelf.  Major  Pulmer;  your 
son  is  doing  well.  He  is  not  much  hurt — not  much,  1  assure  you — 
I,  Mrs.  Girardin." 

"lIch!~you— Mrs.  Gi ." 

Ho  resolutely  sate  np,  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts,  and  stared  hor 


A    GROUP    ON   THE   HIOnWAT.  03 


in  the  face  with  a  countenance  in  which  surprise  was  so  extremo 
as  almost  to  seem  horror.  Fancy  the  spectacle.  Madame  Girardin 
holdini]^  the  carriage  lamp  with  one  hand,  kneeling  on  one  knee, 
and  with  the  other  hand  stnving  to  press  the  old  gentleman  back- 
wards. He,  now  sitting,  his  arms  supporting  him  in  the  posi- 
tion, with  his  hands  resting  on  the  ground;  and  staring  with  such 
a  face  into  her  own.  He  had  almost  recovered  his  senses  quite, 
and  astonishment  had  partly  overcome  his  pain.  It  was  at  this 
moment,  and  while  the  expression  was  still  upon  his  visage,  that 
our  carriage  drew  up  to  the  scene  of  the  accident.  We  necessa- 
rily halted  also,  soon  got  out,  and  almost  as  soon  learned  all  the 
particulars.  In  a  moment  after.  Dr.  Porcher  arrived,  fortunately 
having  met  Peter  on  the  route,  and  proceeded  to  examine  into  the 
condition  of  the  sufferers. 

The  evil  was  not  so  serious  as  we  had  at  first  reason  to  appre- 
hend.   The  real  sufterer  was  Ned  Bulmer,  whose  left  arm  was 
broken,  and  who  was  otherwise  considerably  bruized  about  the 
body.     The  Major  had  an   acre  of  bruizes,  according  to  his  own 
phrase,  over  back  and  shoulders  and  ffides.     But,  excepting  tho 
ugly  ga«ih  over  his  temple,  there  was  nothing  to  disquiet  him  for 
more  than  a  week.     But  ho  had  a  naiTow  escape.     The  skull  was 
uninjured,  but  a  httle  more  obliquity  in  his  fall  would  have  crush- 
ed it.     As  it  was,  the  wound  was  really  only  skin  deep ;  but  it  left 
an  ugly  scar  forever  after,  which,  as  a  fine-looking  man,  who  had 
always  been  particularly  well  satisfied  with  his  visage,  occasioned 
the  proprietor  many  and  frequent  regrets. 

But  we  mast  take  our  groups  out  of  the  highway.  The  arm 
of  Ned  Bulmer  was  temporarily  bandaged,  and  we  hfted  him  into 
tho  carriage  with  as  much  tenderness  as  possible.  This  carriage 
was  Madame  Girardin's.  The  moment  she  discovered  that  each 
of  the  wounded  men  would  require  two  seats,  she  graciously  ac- 
corded the  use  of  her  vehicle.  Of  the  two,  she  perhaps  preferred 
the  son  to  the  Cathcr  as  an  inmate ;  but  dear  httle  Paula,  clinging 


94  THE  'OOLDSN    CHRISTMAS. 


to  her  lover  tenaciouslj,  disposed  of  the  matter  without  leaving 
any  thing  to  the  option  of  the  grandmother ;  and,  at  her  requisi- 
tion, as  soon  as  Ned  was  fully  restored  to  consciousness,  the  Doctor, 
myself  and  Antony,  lifted  him  in,  not  a  little  helped  by  Paula. 
The  same  service  rendered  to  the  Major,  and  the  Doctor  led 
the  way  in  his  own  vehicle.  We  drove  slowly,  and  day  was 
dawning  as  we  entered  the  court.  The  patients  were  carefully 
taken  out,  put  to  bed,  and  more  methodically  and  scientifically 
attended  to.  But  before  Madame  Giraidin  departed,  and  as  she 
was  preparing  to  do  so,  the  Major  begged  to  see  her  in  his  chamber. 

**  Mrs.  Girai'din,  I  am  too  feeble  aud  sore  to  rise,  but  you  will 
believe  me,  as  feeling  very  deeply  and  warmly  your  kindness  and 
the  succour  which  yovi  rendered  to  my  son  and.  myself." 

To  which  the  old  lady  replied : — 

"  Major  Bulmer,  you  will  please  believe,  that  I  am  grateful  to 
God  in  permitting  me  to  be  of  any  help  to  any  of  his  creatures." 

When  she  had  departed,  the  Major  said : — 

"  Well,  I  owe  the  old  lady  my  gratitude.^  She  has  good  stuff 
in  her,  though  she  is  of  French  stock." 

The  old  lady  had  her  comment  also,  muttered  to  Paula  as  she 
rode  :-r- 

"  If  Major  Bulmer  did  not  sometimes  make  himself  so  offensive 
by  his  pride, — his  Bull  family  pride, — he  might  yet  be  made  a 
gentleman." 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  that,  while  the  grandmother  visited 
the  father,  the  grand-daughter  visited  the  son ;  but  what  was  said 
between  the  two  latter,  has  never,  that  I  know  of,  been  reported  to 
any  third  person.' 


THK   PROOTIESS    OF   DOMESTIC   REVOLUTtON.  95 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  PROGRESS  OF  DOMESTIC  REVOLtJTION, 

The  misadventure,  happening  so  near  to  Christmas — that  sea 
son  when  we  require  to  have  all  our  limbs  in  perfection,  our  bodies 
free  from  bruises,  and  our  spirits  buoyant  over  all  restraints, — was 
the  great  subject  of  annoyance  with  the  Major.     Christmas  was  as- 
signed by  him  for  a  great  festival — a  something  more  than  was 
customary  in  the  country,  in  which  every  body  that  was  any  body, 
was  to  be  at  tlie  Barony.     The  accident  happened  on  the  1 3th  of 
Doccml>er.     But  twelve  days,  accordingly,  were  allowed  to  the 
suflTcrcrs  to  get  well.     With  respect  to  the  Mojor  himself,  this,  per- 
haps, bating  the  scar  upon  the  forehead,  was  not  a  matter  of  much 
doubt  or  difficulty.     But  the  case  was  otherwise  with  poor  Ned, 
whose  arm,  the  Doctor  affirmed,  could  not  be  suflfercd  to  go  free 
of  splint  and  sling  under  a  goodly  month.     What  a  month  of 
vexation.     So,  at  least,  it  seemed.     But  the  good  grows  out  of 
4  the  evil,  even  as  the  cauliflower  out  of  the  dunghill.     Evil,  accord- 

i  ing  to  the  ordinance,  is  the  moral  manure  for  good.     The  Major 

;  lost  something  of  his  imperious  will  in  the  feelings  of  self-reproach 

^  which  seized  upon  him.     He  now   beheld,  what  he  did  not  then, 

i  that  it  was  the  champagne  which  ho  had  imbibed,   and  not  that 

which  he  had  imputed  to  his  son,  that  had  tumbled  the  pair  into 
the  pathway.     He  also  began  to  suspect,  what  Ned  would  never 
I         have  hinted  to  him,  that  age  was  giving  certain  premonitions  in  the 
I         shape  of  a  failing  eye-sight     Strange  that  he  had  never  seen  that 
fence.     Was  it  thfe  wine  or  the  years  ?     Both,  perhap.     Tliis  con- 
clusion humbled  the  old  man.     He  sought  the  chamber  of  his  son. 
"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  "  I  won't  ask  you  to  forgive  me,  for 
such  a  request  will  give  you  more  pain,  I  know,  than  any  thing 
besides ;  but  I  feel  that  it  is  not  easy  to  forgive  myselfl    I  had  drank 


.A  ^ 
tHE   OOLDSN   OftlUSTUAd*  ♦ 


too  much  champagne,  that  is  certain.  But  I  was  angry  with  you, 
Ned, — and  you  know  what  one  of  our  modern  poets  says : — 

•*  And  to  bo  wroth  witli  those  wo  love, 

Duth  work  like  madness  in  the  brain." 

I  am  not  sure  that  I  quote  literally,  but  I  am  pretty  near  it.  I 
could  not  eat,  and  drank  freely  on  an  empty  stomach.  This  made 
me  wilful ;  and  Ned,  my  boy,  you  provoked  me.  You  were  a  ht- 
tle  too  cool, — too  cavalier.  Had  you  drank  freely  too — had  you 
been  angry  or  quarrelsome — all  would  have  gone  right.  But,  no 
matter  now.     It  docs  not  help  to  go  over  the  same  ground  again.** 

"  No,"  quoth  Ned,  between  a  writhe  and  a  smile,  a  grin  and  a 
contortion,  not  able  to  resist  the  temptation — "  More  likely  to 
hurt — perhaps  the  other  eye,  the  other  a>"Wi." 

"Well,"  good  humoredly  responded  the  Major,  "you  are  doing 
well,  so  long  as  you  can  perpetrate  a  pun." 

"  Of  old,  you  held  that  to  be  doing  ill:' 

"What!  another!  Dick," — to  me — "is  he  not  incorrigible  ! 
But,  Ned,  my  boy,  you  must  hurry  your  proceedings.  It  won't 
do  to  have  you  laid  up  at  Christmas.  Get  well  as  fast  as  you  can, 
and,  as  an  inducement,  1  have  sent  to  town  already,  to  Reynolds, 
ordering  a  new  buggy.  Your  hoi"se  is  badly  hurt  in  the  flanks.  I 
must  take  him  oil'  your  hands.  You  shall  have  two  hundred  dol- 
lars for  him,  or  the  pick  of  any  draught  horse  in  my  stable — they 
are  all/rfc." 

"  ril  take  the  money,  papa.  I  have  suffered  too  much  from 
your  free  draughts:' 

"  What  a  propensity.  But  I  forgive  you,  considering  your  arm." 

"  Strange,  too,  that  I  should  owe  my  safety  to  that  which  I  can 
no  longer  count  upon.''' 

"  A  pun  again  !  I  give  3  ou  up.  But  look  at'my  phiz.  Am  I 
in  a  condition  to  call  upon  Madame  Agnes-Theresa  this  morning  T* 

Ned  looked  up  with  some  curiosity — anxiety  perhaps — in  his 


«« 


ttiE    PROGHESS    OF    DOMESTIC    REVOLUTIOK.  07 


glance.     We  both  agreed  that  the  scar  had  an  honourable  appear- 
ance. 

"  Ah  !^'  quoth  the  Major,  I  should  not  have  been  ashamed  of  it 
had  it  been  won  in  battle — driving  an  enemy  instead  of  driving  a 
horse." 

"  At  the  head  of  the  Fencihlcs^  instead  of  the  foot  of  the/ence," 
murmured  Ned  largiiidly.. 

"  You  did  serve  in  the  war  of  1815,  Major,"  was  my  remark. 

"  Yes,  after  a  fashion,  along  the  sea  coast;  but  we  never  had  any 
encounter  with  the  enemy.  Their  shipping  lay  in  sight  of  the 
coast,  and  their  boats  sometimes  put  into  the  creeks  and  rivers,  but 
they  fouglit  shy  of  us." 

"  Knowing,  perhaps,  that  they  would  have  to  deal  with  shy 
fighters,"  quoth  Ned. 

"No,  indeed.  We  were  brave  enough,  under  the  circumstances. 
Once  we  thought  we  had  a  chance.  It  was  after  night,  but  star- 
light ;  the  tide  was  coming  in,  and  one  of  our  sentinels  discovered 
a  boat  making  straight  for  shore.  We  crouched  among  the  sands, 
flat  on  our  faces,  making  ready.  When  ^vithin  gun  shot,  wo 
poured  in  a  territic  fire  and  rushed  up  to  finish  the  work  with  the 
bayonets.  We  found  the  lx)at  riddled  admirably  with  our  balls, 
but  nothing  in  her  but  a  junk  bottle  and  a  jacket,  and  both  empty. 
She  had  drifted  from  the  Lacedemonian  man-of-war.  Iler  capture 
was  thought  no  small  evidence  of  our  prowess,  showing  how  we 
could  have  fought.  The  Charleston  papers  were  particularly  elo- 
quent in  our  praise,  and  I'm  not  sure  but  salutes  were  fired  from 
Castle  Pinckney  in  our  honour.  It  was  no  fault  of  ours  that  the 
British  feared  us  too  greatly  to  venture  any  soldiers  in  the  skiff. 
That  was  our  only  achievement,  unless  I  mention  a  somewhat  inef- 
fectual fire  at  a  barge,  about  seven  miles  off.  It  is  barely  possible 
that  the  enemy  saw  the  smoke  of  our  muskets.  They  could  not 
have  heard  the  report.  But,  you  think  I  will  do  to  see  Madame 
Girardin?" 

0 


'*^!i^ 


,M68  **.  TttB   GOtDEl?    OttRlSTMAS. 


t  ^■ 


**  Aa  well  as  any  gallant  of  us  all,"  was  my  reply* 

**  Very  good.     HI  ride  over  this  morning.'' 

"  Eyes  right,  father,  and  look  out  for  fences  on  the  left*^ 

"  Get  out,  you  dog.  Trust  me,  never  again  to  take  champagne 
or  any  other  liquor  on  an  empty  stomach." 

"  And,  beware  of  the  black  dog,  father." 

"  The  tiger  is  becoming  paci6ed,  Nod,"  was  my  remark  afler 
the  departure  of  the  Major.  "  He  has  had  a  bad  scare.  He  will 
come  round  by  degrees.     All  the  symptoms  are  favourable." 

"  He  will  give  up  some  favourite  projects  then.  His  heart  has 
been  more  earnestly  set  on  this  marriage  than  I  had  suspected.  I 
am  now  convinced  he  has  been  planning  it  for  months,  and  1  have 
reason  to  believe  that  he  opened  the  subject  to  Mrs.  Mazyck  be- 
fore she  went  to  travel  last  summer.  He  is  tenacious -of  such 
matters." 

"  No  doubt ;  and  without  some  extraordinary  event  he  would 
have  continued  so.  This  accident  has  been  a  great  good  fortune. 
The  Major  has  too  uniformly  escaped  successfully  from  those  evils 
to  which  flesh  is  heir.  Uninterrupted  good  fortune  is  quite  too 
apt  to  harden  the  hearts  of  the  very  best  men.  They  finally  be- 
lieve themselves  to  bo  entitled  to  impunity.  It  requires  a  disas- 
ter to  rebuke  arrogance ;  and  one  should  pray  for  an  occasional 
mischance,  knowing  our  tendency  to  self-reliance.  .  We  must  every 
now  and  then  receive  a  lesson  which  teaches  us  that  God  is  still 
the  Ruler  of  the  Univei*se,  and  that  the  richest,  the  strongest, 
the  bravest,  iho  wisest,  a;o  but  feathers  and  straw  before  his 
breath.  Your  father  has  just  had  one  of  these  excellent  lessons. 
He  has  been  taught  the  exceeding  shortness  of  the  step  between 
an  imperial  will,  a  haughty  temper,  a  glorious  future,  and  suffering, 
agony,  the  grave,  the  loss  of  the  thing  most  precious,  the  over- 
throw of  the  most  cherished  pride  and  vanity.  You  are  the  only 
son,  '.nd  the  very  will  which  threatened  to  wreck  your  hopes,  was 
based  upon  the  desn-e  to  subserve  your  success  and  prosperity* 


t-.v 


THE    PROGRESS    OF   DOMESTIC    REVOLUTION.  99 


Strange  as  it  may  seem,  parents  are  thus  constantly  employed,  at 
once  for  the  good  and  the  mortification  of  their  cliildrcn.  Keep 
up  your  spirits.  Do  not  vex  him.  Say  nothing  of  your  hurts. 
He  will  see  them,  and  suppose  them,  fast  enough ;  and  your  very 
forbearance  to  complain  will,  in  his  mind,  exaggerate  the  amount 
of  your  suffering.  There  will  bo  a  degree  of  remorse  at  work 
within  his  bosom,  which  shall  impel  his  moods  hereafter  in  «n  en- 
tirely o])posite  direction." 

"  But,  you  do  not  augur  any  thing  from  this  N-isit  to  Madame 
Girardin  V 

"  By  no  means.  As  a  gentleman,  he  could  do  no  less.  He  had 
to  go.  There  is  no  merit  in  the  act.  He  owts  the  old  lady  and 
the  young  one  the  visit,  and  something  more.  But,  there  is  some- 
thing favourable  in  the  fact  that  he  does  it  willingly,  cheerfully, 
and  with  a  grace,  showing  that  the  duty  is  now  by  no  means  an 
irksome  one.  A  week  ago,  and  to  be  required  to  visit  the  Bonneau 
plantation  would  have  been  like  taking  a  pill  of  myrrh  and  aloes." 

Let  us  follow  the  Baron,  and  see  the  issue  of  his  visit. 

AVhen  it  was  announced  to  Madame  Girardin  that  Major  Bul- 
mer  was  in  the  parlour,  she  was  quite  in  a  fidget.  "  Bonita,"  her 
own  maid,  a  mulatto  of  Cuban  origin,  and  "  Marie,"  the  waiting 
maid  of  Paula,  were  both  summoned. 

"  Boniti,  what  ha.s  become  of  my  mantua  cap  ?  Marie,  I  told 
you  to  put  away  my  Valenciennes.  Dear  me,  Paula,  I  can  find 
nothing,  and  these  servants  are  positively  in  the  way  of  each  other. 
They  are  certainly  the  most  awkward  and  useless  creatui-es  in  the 
world.  Paula,  child,  do  look  into  your  drawers  for  the  Valenci- 
ennes tippet.  Ah !  there  it  is.  Paula,  child,  do  fix  me, — pin  the 
I  f  cap  for  me,  and  put  on  that  bunch  of  crimson  ribbons.     Crimson 

always  suited  my  hair  best,  and  complexion.  Do  get  away,  Bo- 
nita— you  only  disorder  me.  You  are  getting  quite  too  fat  and 
clumsy  for  any  useful  purpose  about  house.     I'll  have  to  send  you 


i«|IOO  t.>^  THB    GOLDEN    0HRIBTMA8. 

— _— _—— — ..-^-^^_  * 

,  into  the  field.    Heavens,  what  ^vill  Major  Bulmer  say  to  being 
kept  so  long  ?     Why,  Paula,  where  are  you,  child  ?" 

Paula  was  already  down  stairs.     Madame  Agnes-Theresa  was 
still  a  long  time  fixing.     For  years  she  had  never  taken  such  pains 
to  caparison  herself  for   any   encounter  with  the  other  gender. 
Strange !  that  she  should  bo  so  solicitous  alx)ut  her  personal  ap- 
pearance, when  she  was  to  meet  with  one  whom  she  had  always 
regarded   with   prejudice  and  the   bitterest  hostility.     Yet,  not 
strange  !     Oh !  woman,  after  all,  claim  whal  you  please  for  your- 
self; assert  what  rights  you  plea<^e  ;  estimato  your  charms  at  the 
highest;  pride  youi-self  as  you  may  upon  your  intrinsic  worth;  sup- 
pose yourself,  if  you  please,  of  the  purest  and  most  precious  porce- 
lain clay  that  ever  aflforded  materials  for  celestial  manufacture  ; — 
then,  put  what  rough  estimate  you  may  on  man — suppose  him  all 
that  is  rude,  and  wild,  and  rough,  and  tough, — all  dough  and 
mortality   if  you   think  proper, — a   mere  savage  in  beaver  and 
breeches, — a  mere  beast  of  burden,  A\'ith  only  half  the  usual  al- 
lowance of  legs  and  ears — still,  my  dear  creature,  all  your  pains- 
taking are  for  him,  even  when  he  is  of  the  rudest,  and  you  the 
softest — all  these  careful  ciiparisonings  before  the  mirror, — all  this 
assiduous  training  of  the  tresses — all  this  nice  adjustment  of  the 
features, — the  very  disposition  of  that  scarf  and  tippet,  the  careful 
twofold  concealment  and  display  of  that  white  neck  and  bosom, 
that  adroit  placing  of  the  jewel  just  where  it  is  best  calculated  to 
inform  him  how  much  more  precious  is  the  jewel   that  hides  be- 
neath,— that  confining  zone, — that  flowing  drapery, — that  bracelet 
spauning  the  snowy  arm, — all,  all, — the  grace,  the  tiuste,  the  toil, 
the  care,  the  smile,  the  motion, — all,  all  arc  denigned  to  win  his 
smile,  to  charm  his  fancy,  provoke  his  admiration,  compel  his  love. 
Talk  of  yourjights  I     Confess  the  truth,  for  once, now,  at  this  holi- 
day season,  and  admit  that  the  most  precious  of  your  rights,  even 
in  your  own  estimation,  is  that  of  winning  his  aflection,  wild  colt, 
fierce  tiger,  beast  of  prey  and  burden  as  ho  is  I 


THE   PROGRESS    OF   DOMESTIC   REVOLXmON.  101  ^^ 


Dear,  good,  antique,  frigid,  stately,  stiff, "  and  bigoted  ^Madame 
Girardin,  was  not  superior  to  her  sex  ;  and  this,  by  the  way,  my 
\dear,  is  the  one  most  precious  jewel  of  her  humanity.  She  was  a 
good  half  hour  in  fixing,  even  after  Paula  Bonneau  had  descended 
to  the  parlour.  The  latter  has  gone  down  to  meet  the  Major  after 
the  fashion  of  Nora  Creina  : 

"  Oh  !  my  Nora's  gown  for  me, 

That  floats  as  wild  as  mountain  breezes. 
Leaving  every  beauty  free, 

To  sink  or  swell  as  Heaven  pleases. 
Ye?,  my  Nora  Creina,  dear,       ' 
My  simple,  graceful  Nora  Creina  ; 
Nature's  dress, 
Is  lovolinc??, 
The  dress  you  wear,  my  Nora  Creina." 

Never  sticking  a  pin  in  her  dress,  never  adjusting  tippet  or  ribbon, 
the  artless  child  bounded  down  to  the  meeting  with  Ned's  father 
with  a  joyous,  cheerful  sentiment  of  delight  and  expectation.  She 
knew  that  he  would  come, — that  he  was  bound  to  come  to  make 
his  acknowledgments, — but,  somehow,  there  was  a  vague,  undefin- 
able  feeling  in  her  little  heart,  that  his  coming  augured  something 
more  grateful, — something  more  positive  than  a  mere  formality. 
She  fancied  that  the  snows  of  winter  were  about  to  thaw,  and,  like 
a  glad  bird,  she  bounded  forth  with  song  to  welcome  in  the  first 
I       Eunshino  and  the  infant  promise  of  tlie  spring.     And  the  old 
Major,  bigoted  and  prejudiced,  and  feeling,  as  he  did,  that  she 
stood  in  the  way  of  one  of  his  most  cherished  schemes  in  behalf 
of  his  son,  he  could  not  resist  the  child-like  confidence,  the  unaf- 
fected and  pure  innocence  of  soul  and  spirit  which  displayed  itself 
to  his  eye  on  her  approach — so  frank,  so  free,  so  joyous,  the  union 
of  child  and  angel,  so  sweetly  mingled  in  look  and  manner!     She 
came  towards  him  with  extended  hands,  but  he  caught  her  in  his 
arms,  and  kissed  her,  I  fancy  quite  as  aflectionately  as  ho  would 
0* 


v>102  *  THE   GOLDEN   0HIU8TMA8. 


have  done  Beatrice  Mazyck ;  then  he  put  her  from  him  at  arm*i 
length,  and  looked  kindly  into  her  large,  bright,  dewy  eyes. 

"  Oh  !  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  and  to  see  you  well  again,  Major.** 

"  My  dear  child,  I  owe  it,  perhaps,  to  you  and  to  your  good 
grandmother,  that  I  am  well  again — or  nearly  so." 

Paula  did  not  disclaim  the  service,  as  many  foolish  people  would 
do.  She  acted  more  wisely — said  not  a  word  about  it ;  but  look- 
ing at  the  scar,  cried  out,  with  child-like  freedom : — 

"  But  you  have  got  a  mark  for  life,  Major.  That  was  a  terrible 
cut." 

"  Ah !  my  dear,  but  not  half  so  severe  as  th^t  which  you  would 
have  made  upon  my  heart,  were  I  thirty  years  younger.  As 
it  is,  I  don't  know  how  much  love  I  do  not  owe  you,  old  as  I  am.** 

And  he  took  her  again  into  his  arms,  and  seated  her  upon  his 
knees,  and  began  to  thirk  that,  after  all,  it  was  really  not  so  strange 
that  Ned  Buhner  should  take  a  fancy  to  the  little  damsel,  though 
she  "was  of  that  pernicious  French  stock.  And  the  old  man  and 
tlie  young  girl  prattled  together  like  two  children  that  have  chased 
butterflies  together,  until  the  moment  when  that  gem  fi-om  the  an- 
tique, Madame  Girardin,  strode  into  the  apartment,  looking  very 
much  like  a  crane  on  a  visit  of  special  ceremonial  feeding,  at  the 
Court  of  the  Froccs. 

"  Mrs.  Gimrdin,"  quoth  the  Major,  rising  and  making  his  famous 
bow,  though  at  the  cost  of  a  few  severe  twitches  of  the  back  and 
arms, — "  I  come,  my  dear  Madam,  to  return  you  my  best  thanks 
for  your  kindness  and  singular  attention  to  myself  and  son,  at  a 
moment  of  very  great  pain  and  imminent  danger  to  both.  You 
acted  the  part,  my  dear  Madam,  of  the  good  Samaritan,  and 
when  T  think  of  the  coldness  of  the  night,  your  exposure  on  the 
damp  earth,  your  fatigue,  at  an  hour  when  repose  was  alwolutely 
necessary, — the  judicious  eflbrta  you  employed,  and  the  prompt 
intelligence  which  made  you  provide  for  immediate  help, — I  feel 
utterly  at  a  loss  for  words  to  say  how  deeply  I  am  penetrated  by 


THE    PROGRESS    OP   DOMESTIO    REVOLUTION.  103 


your  kindness  and  benevolent  consideration.  I  trust,  mj  dear 
Mrs.  Girardin,  that  you  will  receive  my  a«^surances  in  the  sj)irit  in 
which  they  are  tendered,  and  that,  hereafter,  we  shall  become 
more  to  each  other  than  mere  passing  acquaintances  of  the  same 
parish." 

The  Major  hai  evidently  meditated  this  speech  with  a  great 
deal  of  care.  It  betrayed  cogitation,  and  this  was  its  fL\ult.  His 
object  was  to  express  his  feelings  distinctly,  and  to  declare  his  con- 
viction of  the  friendly  and  useful  assistance  of  the  lady;  yet  with- 
out falling  into  formality.  But,  that  he  meditated  at  all,  what  ho 
had  to  say,  necessarily  led  him  into  fonnality.  This  is  always  the 
eiTor  with  impulsive  meu,  who  forgot  that  when  impulse  lias  be- 
come habitual,  it  has  also  become  equally  polished,  proper  and  ex- 
pressive. I  am  sj^eaking  now  of  educated  people,  of  course.  A 
man  so  impulsive  as  Major  I5ulnier,  it  is  to  be  cxpectod,  must  oc- 
casionally err  in  speech ;  but  a  man  who  is  so  free  and  froc^uent  a 
Bix-aker,  is  never  apt  to  err  very  greatly,  if  he  will  leave  himself 
alone,  and  wait  for  tho  promptings  of  the  occasion.  Had  he,  by 
accident^  encountered  Mrs.  Girardin  the  morning  after  the  accident, 
he  would  have  thanked  her  in  a  single  sentence  and  a  look  ;  and 
his  gratitude  would  have  seemed  more  decidedly  warm  from  the 
heart,  than  it  now  declared  itself. 

But  I  am  tiot  so  sure,  remembcnng  the  sort  of  frigid  person 
with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  that  his  present  mode  of  address  was 
not  tho  most  appropriate.  It  sounded  dignified, — it  appealed  to 
her  dignity.  He  made  it  an  aflfair  of  state,  and  her  state  was  ac- 
cordingly lifted  by  it.  It  showed  him  deliberate  in  his  approaches, 
even  when  his  object  was  to  give  thanks,  and  this  displayed  his 
high  sense  of  the  service,  and  of  the  importance  of  the  pei-son  ad- 
dressed. All  of  which  was  rather  grateful  than  otherwise  to  a 
person  who  still  longed  for  Uio  return  of  hoops  and  high  head 
dresses.  She  answered  him  in  similar  fashion, — '  She  had  done 
her  duty  only.    We  must  give  help  to  one  another  in  the  hour  of 


:1f- 

^«^,104  .^  THE    GOLDBir   0BRI6TMAB, 


distress  and  afSiction.  Major  Bulmer^s  rank  in  society  justified 
her  departure  from  some  of  its  strictnesses,  in  tlie  efibrt  to  assist 
him.  She  was  conscious  of  tlie  impropriety,  ordinarily,  of  stooping 
beside  a  gentleman,  particularly  on  the  high  road ;  but  she  begged 
him  to  believe  that,  before  she  did  so,  she  agcertiiined  that  he  was 
actually  insensible.  She  herself  saw  the  blood  sti'eaming  from 
his  brows.  She  heard  his  groans.  Otherwise,  he  was  quite  speech- 
less. Under  the  circumstances,  she  had  a  Christian  chaiity  to  ful- 
fil. She  thanked  God  she  was  a  Christian, — true,  a  most  unwor- 
thy one, — but  she  prayed  niglitly  for  Heavenly  Grace  to  make  her 
better.  She  was  happy  to  believe  that  her  prayers  .had  been 
somewhat  heard  ;  assuming  the  very  casualty  of  w;hich  the  Major 
had  been  so  nearly  the  victim,  to  bo  designed  as  affording  her  a 
special  opportunity  of  serving  one  whom  she  had  not  been  taught 
to  recognize  as  a  friend." 

"  Cool  indeed,"  thought  the  Major.  "  Certainly  very  cool.  I  am 
to  be  upset  by  Providence,  my  own  and  son's  neck  perilled,  only 
to  afford  her  an  oj)portunity  to  play  the  good  Samaritan.  Very 
cool,  indeed !'  thought  the  Major,  though  he  suppressed  the  very 
natural  comment.  The  self-complacency  of  the  old  lady  now  be- 
gan to  please  him  as  a  sort  of  study  of  character.  But  ho  spoke 
flgaiu.  She  had  referred  to  his  bloody  appearance,  to  liis  groans 
unconsciously  uttered.  It  was  in  something  of  the  spirit  of  a  cer- 
tain Frenchman,  of  famous  memory,  that  he  said, — 

"  Keally,  Mrs.  Giiardin,  when  I  wa.s  in  that  condition,  I  must 
greatly  have  disquieted  you  l)y  my  groans  and  shocking  appear- 
ance. I  am  afraid  I  made  some  horrible  wry  faces.  Believe  me, 
my  dear  Madame,  it  was  i)urely  miinteutional.  Had  I  been  con- 
scious of  your  presence,  I  certainly  would  have  constiained  myself. 
I  trust  you  did  not  construe  my  wry  faces  into  any  feeling  of  dis- 
approbation at  your  presence,  or  the  kindly  succour  you  were  giving 
me." 

"  No,  sir ;  I  thank  God,  who  kept  mo  from  putting  any  such  un- 


THE    PROGRESS    C>F    DOMESTIC    REVOLUTION.  105  ^ 


chnritable  construction  on  your  conduct.  Suffering  as  you  did,  in 
euch  a  situation, — or  liad  it  been  any  body  else, — I  should  have 
beg^ged  you  to  pay  no  attention  to  my  presence,  but  to  bo  as  much 
at  case  as  possible  1" 

"  At  case !"  thought  the  Major.  "  What  an  idea ! — what  a 
strange  woman."     His  spoken  words  wore  of  another  sort. 

"  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Girardin, — from  the  bottorh  of  my  heart  I 
thank  you, — for  myself  and  son.  He,  too,  sends  his  thanks,  though 
too  great  a  sufferer  to  offer  them  in  person.  He  will  present  him- 
self as  soon  as  Jio  is  able.  To  you,  and  this  sweet  angel  of  a 
daughter,  we  owe  more  than  we  can  ever  acknowledge." 

To  this,  the  good  lady  had  a  set  speech,  deprecating  all  acknow- 
ledgments. The  delight  of  doing  good  was  sufficient  for  her.  To 
this  the  iSIajor  had  his  response ;  to  which  the  lady  had  hers  ;  the 
former  replied  again  ;  and  Madam  Agnes-Theresa  answered  him. 
By  and  by,  the  Major  began  to  speak  more  at  his  ease,  and,  after 
a  little  while,  making  a  prodigious  leap  from  one  point  to  another, 
he  exclaimed  abruptly  : — 

"  The  fact  is,  my  dear  Mrs.  Girardin,  we  have  been  all  our  lives 
a  couple  of  old  fools — " 
"  Sir !" 

"  I  beg  pardon, — a  thousand  pardons.  I  meant  to  say  that  / 
have  been  a  couple  of  old  fools — not  merely  one  fool — that  would 
II  not  answer  to  express  my  sense  of  my  stupidity  for  so  many  years 
I  of  my  life.  No,  Madam,  I  have  been  a  pair  of  fools ;  for  living 
I  beside  you  in  the  parish  so  long,  knowing  your  worth,  and  the 
honourable  family  to  which  you  belong,  yet  never  once  seeking  to 
show  my  estimation  of  it.  It  is  thus,  my  dear  Mrs.  Girardin,  that 
one  will  hunt  for  years  aflcr  a  treasure  which  is  actually  lying  all 
the  while  in  hi-y  path — that  one  will  sigh  and  yearn  afler  posses- 
sions for  which  he  has  only  to  open  his  eyes  and  stretch  forth  his 
hands, — and  that  we  hourly  lament  the  growing  weakness,  wick- 
edness, and  ignorance  of  the  world  around  as,  without  being  at 


<iir 


106  THE    GOLDEN    CHRISTMAS. 


the  proper  pains  to  welcome  and  value  the  good^  the  great,  the 
•wise  and  the  virtuous,  even  when  we  find  them.  I  have  been  a 
fool  of  tliis  description  of  forty  horse  power.  By  God's  blessing, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Girardin,  and,  with  your  favour,  I  will  show  that  I 
am  recovering  my  senses.  Permit  me,  then,  to  acknowledge  my 
past  stupidity  in  not  knowing  you  better,  and  do  not  punish  the 
offence,  for  which  I  feel  a  becoming  remoi*se,  by  denying  me  per- 
mission to  make  proper  amends  in  the  future  for  the  past" 

Madame  Agnes-Theresa  was  proud,  and  vain,  and  haughty,  and 
clannish,  and  full  of  ridiculous  notions  of  what  was  due  especially 
to  herself  and  family, — but  she  was  not  wilful  or  perverse.     Pro- 
perly appealed  to,  she  was  accessible,  and,  if  she  had  no  question 
of  the  sincerity  of  the  offender,  she   was  forgiving.     Besides,  as 
we  have  before  hinted,  her  hostility  to  the  Buhner  household  arose 
from  pique  and  a  mortified  spirit.     She  did  not  hold  herself  aloof 
from  them,  or  toss  her  head  haughtily  when  she  heard  them  men- 
tioned,  because  she  felt   her  superiority  over  them,  but  simply 
because  they  seemed  tacitly  to  assert  theirs  over  her.    Vain  people 
are  easily  mollified.  The  very  attempt  to  mollify  them,  soothes  the 
self-esteem  which  you  have  outraged.     Major  Buhner  was  a  great 
beguiler  of  the  sex.     In  his  youth,  a  splendid  figure,  with  a  hand- 
some face,  he  was  irresistible.     Even  now,  his  figure  was  noble  and 
erect,  his  eye  open,  manly,  and  of  a  glad,  generous  blue  ;  and  his 
whole  air  was  that  of  the  born  gentleman.     Madame  Girardin  did 
not  prove  incorngible.     The  signs  of  yielding  were  soon  mani- 
fest, and  when,  pointing  to  an   ancient  portrait   of  a   Knight  in 
armour,  hanging  against  the  walls,  the  Major  aiforded  her  an  op- 
portunity of  tracing  the   Girardin  family  to  the  fountain  head 
which  they  were  content  to  claim,  he  made  a  formidable  advance 
into  the  champagne  country  of  her  affections.     He  put  iier  on  the 
right  strain,  and  she  told  the  story  which  he  had  heard  from  other 
sources  a  hundred  times  before,  of  that  famous  warrior,  the  Lord 
Paul  St.  Marc  Girardin,  who  accompanied  Saint  Louis  to  the  Holy 


IttK    PROGRESS    Oil*   t)0ME9TI0    REVoLtJTtON.  10? 


Land,  and  helped  to  bury  him  there.  Then  the  old  lady  showed 
him  the  antique  seal  ring  of  the  family,  the  crest  being  a  cross- 
handled  sword,  the  blade  dividing  a  crescent  at  an  awful  swoop  ; 
then  followed  the  narrative  of  the  Lord  Paul  vSt.  Marc's  feats  of 
arms,  his  prowess,  the  number  of  ladies  he  saved,  hearts  he  won, 
Turks  he  slow.  The  Bonneaus,  the  old  lady  was  pleased  to  admit, 
had  never  been  quite  so  distinguished  as  the  Girardins,  but  they, 
too,  had  done  no  small  mischief  upon  Turks'  heads  and  ladies' 
hearts.  To  slaughter  foes,  and  jilt  damsels,  by  the  way,  was, 
among  the  fine  people  fifty  years  ago,  the  two  preferred  processes 
for  being  honourably  famous  ;  and,  with  all  her  religion  and  bigotry, 
the  good  grandmother  held  rather  tenaciously  to  the  old  faith  in 
these  performances. 

And  so  the  two  talked  away,  and  alwut  the  strangest  things,-— 
strangely  communicative,  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  to  ono 
another,  until,  by  the  time  the  hour  was  ended, — you  will  scarce 
believe  it,  dutiful  reader  of  mine,  but  it  is  a  solemn  and  truthful 
chronicle  which  I  indite, — but, — certainly  I  shall  suqirise  you. 
Prepare  yourself.  What  think  you  then  ?  The  old  lady  herself, 
Madame  Agnes-Theresa,  taking  Major  Bulmer  by  the  arm,  actu- 
ally conducted  him  out  to  look  at  a  new  smoke-house  she  had  l)een 
building,  and  to  show  her  new  plans  for  curing  hogs ;  then  led  him 
away,  in  the  same  style,  to  look  at  some  new  fowls  of  foreign  va- 
rieties, roostere  big  as  giraffes,  and  pullets  that  might  have  pacified 
I  Polyphemus,  which  her  factor  had  bought  for  her  at  the  great 
Fowl  Fair  in  Charleston.  "  Fair  is  foul  and  foul  is  fair !"  says 
Shakspeare,  so  that  nobody  need  be  offended  at  my  present  collo- 
cation of  words.  The  Fowl  Fair  in  Charleston  had  contributed 
largely  to  our  grandmother's  hen  coop,  and  aflbrded  material  upon 
"which  the  old  lady  and  her  guest  could  expatiate  with  equal  elo- 
quence. Little  Paula  thought  there  would  be  no  end  of  it ;  but 
the  sly  little  puss,  seeing  that  things  were  going  rightly,  never  in- 
terposed an  unnecessary  word^ — and  her  forbearance  displayea 


^ 


'■$    •  .  ^' > 


108  tliB   GOLDEN    CHRIBTMA04 


eminent  wisdom.     Half  the  world  are  fools  in  this  very  particular* 
They  put  in  an  oar,  just  when  the  boat  is  making  the  best  head- 
way, with  tide,  wind  and  current  in  favour,    They  stop  the  cur- 
rents, they  head  the  winds,  and,  in  the  eftbrt  -to  help  progress, 
mar  the  enterprise  forever.     Keep  your  tongues,  fools ;  hold  off 
your  hands,  donkies,  and  let  "  Go  ahead  "  and  "  Do  well,"  work 
their  own  passages,  without  clapping  unnecessary  sttam  to  their  tails* 
"  Well,"  quoth  the  old  lady  to  Paula,  after  the  Major  had  de- 
parted,— "  well,  my  child,  who  would  have  thought  it !     Who 
ever  expected  to  see  Major  Buhner  in  my  house.     Who  ever  list- 
ened to  hear  mo  welcome  him  !     There's  some  great  change  at 
hand,  my  child,  when  such  things  happen." 
"  The  great  change  has  happened,  inamma.^^ 
"  Yes ;  but  it  •  always  betokens  other  changes  yet.     The  Major 
has  had  a  narrow  escape.     But  he  is  old,  and  he  may  have  suf- 
fered some  secret  injury,  of  which  he  never  dreams.     When  peo- 
ple tlius  siiddenly  change  in  tlieir  dispositions,  look  for  a  singular 
change  in  tlieir  fortunes.     Well,  God  be  thanked  for  making  hira 
sensible,  in  his  old  age,  and  before  it  became  too  late,  of  what  he 
owed  to  society  and  his  neighboui-s.     It  is  late,  but  not  too  late, 
and  I  pray  that  no  evil  consequences  may  follow  the  present  change 
for  the  better  in  his  disposition." 
"  How  can  it,  mamma  T' 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know ;  but  change  is  an  awful  thing  always,  even 
when  it  happens  for  the  better,  and  there  is  always  some  evil  fol- 
lowing in  the  footsteps  of  what  is  good.  We  must  only  hope  and 
pray,  and  leave  it  all  to  heaven." 


WmCH    AUOUR8    AN    AFFAIR    OF    BOARS.  109 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WHICH  AUGURS  AN  AFFAIR  OF  BOARS  ! 

It  is  the  tendency  of  alj  re\;olution9.  when  they  once  fairly  begin, 
to  precipitate  themselves  with  fearful  rapidity.  The  impetus  once 
given,  and  the  car  rolls  onward,  with  a  growing  head  of  steam. 
The  development  is  as  eager  as  light  in  its  progress,  from  the  mo- 
ment when  the  germinating  principles  begin  to  be  active.  It  will 
be  admitted  that  the  transitive  steps  were  soon  overcome,  in  the 
overthrow  of  the  ancient  prejudices  between  the  Bulmer  and  Bon- 
neau  famihes.  Major  Bulmer  was  a  man  of  locomotive  tempera- 
ment, who  could  not  well  arrest  himself  in  his  own  movement, 
having  once  begun  it.  Scarcely  had  he  returned  home,  and  re- 
ported what  he  had  done,  when  he  hurried  to  the  library,  in  order 
to  prepare  billets  of  invitation  for  Madam  Agnes-Theresa,  and 
the  fair  Paula,  to  his  proposed  Golden  Festival  at  Christmas. 
These  performances  were  not  so  easy.  Every  precaution  had  to 
be  taken  by  which  to  avoid  offending  the  amour  propre  of  the 
old  lady  and  re-awakening  her  ancient  prejudices.  Twenty  notes 
were  begun,  and  were  dismissetl,  because  of  some  unlucky  word  or 
phrase.  I  was  finally  called  in  to  the  consultation,  and  required 
to  ])repare  an  epistle,  possessing  all  the  accuracy  of  a  law  paper, 
with  all  the  blandness  of  a  billet  doux.  Some  hours  were  spent 
in  devices,  and  doubtSj'and  arguments,  and  objections,  and  quiddi- 
ties, and  quoddities,  in  order  that  we  might  not  chafe  rabidities  and 
oddities.  The  work  was  done  at  length,  but  there  was  still  a 
shaking  of  the  head,  on  the  part  of  the  Major  and  Miss  Bulmer, 
\l  as  to  certain  words,  and  dots,  and  consonants ;  and  it  was  finally 

I  *  decreed  that  Ned  should  decide  as  to  which,  of  half  a  dozen  epistles, 

Jil  should  be  sent  The  great,  final  consultation  was  held  in  his 
!|  chamber, — and  he  decided, — and  we  may  suppose  with  judgment, 
'■'■  10 


110  THB   O0LDXI7   CBRI8T1IA8.  ^ 


ooQcemiDg  the  result  The  billets  were  sent,  for  the  old  lady  and 
her  grand-daughter  ;  and  before  an  answer  could  be  received,  Miss 
Bulmer, — a  most  benevolent  and  gentle  soul  as  ever  lived, — took 
the  carriage  and  drove  over  to  Madame  Girardin,in  order,  if  need 
be,  to  smooth  over  difficulties  and  overcome  objections ;  at  all 
events,  to  add  her  eloquence  to  that  of  her  brother,  to  persuade 
the  paHies  to  acceptance.  But,  before  her  arrival,  the  discussion 
had  taken  place  between  the  old  lady  and  the  grand-daughter. 

"  Well,  Paula,"  quoth  she,  "  wonders  will  never  cease.  What 
do  you  think  ?  Here  is  an  invitation  to  me, — to  me, — to  spend 
Christmas  day  and  night  at  Bulmer  Barony.  And  here  is  a  note 
to  yourself,  I  suppose,  to  the  same  effect." 

And  the  old  lady  refid  her  billet  aloud,  and  then  required  the 
young  one  to  re-read  it^  and  to  read  her  own. 

"  And  now  what  do  you  say,  my  child.  Don't  you  think  it  very 
surprising  ?" 

"  I  don't  see  any  thing  to  surprise  us,  mamma.  I  confess  it's 
only  what  I  expected,  after  the  Major's  visit  yesterday." 

"  Well !  theee  sudden  changes  are  very  awful.  No  one  can  tell 
what  is  to  happen.  I  declare  they  make  me  quit^  nervous.  Major 
Bulmer  has  never  been  on  friendly  terms  with  our  family,  but  I 
think  him  a  very  worthy  man,  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  any 
thing  evil  was  to  occur.  I  knew  once  of  a  person  who  was  a  great 
sinner,  a  very  wicked  man,  who  swore  Uke  a  trooper,  and  drank 
hke  a  dragoon  horse;  who  was  always  quarrelling  with  somebody, 
and  fighting  and  laNving  with  his  neighbours ;  who  all  at  once  be- 
came converted  from  his  evil  ways,  renounced  his  bad  habits, 
joined  himself  to  the  church,  became  really  pious,  and  suddenly 
died  of  apoplexy  only  ii  month  after  ho  had  becom  \  religious." 

"  That  was  surely  better  than  if  ho  had  died  before  becoming 
80.  I  don't  think  the  change  for  the  better,  in  his  character,  pro- 
duced the  change  in  his  body  for  the  worse ;  or  that  the  danger  to 
his  Ufo  was  the  consequence  of  the  improvement  in  his  morals. 


WHICH    AUGURS    AN    AFFAIR    OF   BOARS.  Ill 


-  i 


It  may  be  that  certain  changes  in  his  physical  condition,  of  which 
he  was  better  conscious  than  anybody  eke,  brought  about  the 
change  of  heart  within  him ;  and,  fortunately  for  him,  brought  it 
about  soon  enough  for  his  spiritual  safety.  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  infer  anytliing  unfavourable  to  Major  Bulmer's  health,  in 
conse([uenco  of  the  improved  feeling  whicli  ho  shows  towards  us." 
"  I  don't  know,  my  child ;  there's  no  telling.  It's  all  a  myste- 
ry ;  but  I  have  my  fears.  I'm  dubious  that  he  is  not  altogether 
so  sound  of  body  after  that  accident." 

"Why,  mother,  ho  walks  as  erect  as  ever." 
"  Oh  I  that's  owing  to  his  pride.  These  Bulmers  were  always 
80.  My  poor  brother  used  to  say  that  if  they  were  dying,  they'd 
still  carry  their  heads  up,  and  would  draw  on  their  boots  and  put 
on  their  spurs  as  for  a  journey.  But,  what's  to  be  done,  my  child, 
about  these  invitations  ?" 

"  Oh  I  we  must  accept  them,  mamma,  as  a  matter  of  course." 
"  I  don't  see  that,  Paula." 

"  Surely,  mamma,  if  Major  Bulmer  makes  the  first  advances  to 
reconciliation,  you  are  not  going  to  show  a  less  Christian  spirit  than 
he." 

"  There  is  something  in  that,  my  dear,  but — '* 
"  Let  the  but  alone,  mamma.     It  properly  belongs  to  the  Bull 
family." 

The  old  lady  laughed. 

"  So  it  does,  my  child,  so  it  does ;  that  is  very  well  said ; — 
but— '» 

"  Again,  mamma  I  Now  let  me  give  you  a  suflScient  reason  for 
acceptance.  You  would  not  have  me  go  alone ;  and  I  must  be 
there,  you  know,  as  the  whole  neighbourhood  will  be  present,  and 
you  would  not  have  it  appear  that  I  was  slighted,  or  that  I  had 
shown  myself  too  little  of  a  Christian  to  accept  the  overtures  of  a 
family  between  which  and  ours  so  long  a  feud  has  existed.  You 
must  accept  the  invitation,  and  go  for  my  sake.'* 


4' 


112  THE    GOLDEN    OHRIBTHAS. 


"Well,  my  dear,  for  your  sake  !"  replied  the  indulgent  dame, 
concealing,  under  the  expression  of  her  desire  to  gratify  the  dam- 
sel's wishes,  some  hankering  tastes  and  curiosity  of  her  own.  The 
great  object  had  thus  been,  safely  and  easily  attained  when  Miss 
Bulmer  made  her  appearance,  and  by  some  ill-judged,  though 
very  benevolent  attempts  to  argue  Madame  Agnes-Theresa  into 
the  consent  alrepdy  won,  had  nearly  driven  the  vessel  out  to  sea 
again;  like  certain   politicians   of   our  acquaintance,  who   mar 
the  pleasant  progress  of  their  own  objects,  by  the  too  gi-eat  passion 
for  listening  to  their  own  eloquence.     Many  a  good  measure  has 
been  defeated  in  legislative  assemblies,  by  a  pert  speech  and  an 
amiable  epistle :  both   possessing  more  wind  than  wisdom.     Our 
lady  politician  was  of  this  unlucky  brood,  and,  but  for  certain  looks, 
nods,  winks,  and  other  sly  proceedings— to  say  nothing  of  an  ab- 
solute nudge  or  two — administered  by  pretty  Paula,  the  ragout  of 
compliance,  to  use  an  oriental  form  of  speech,  would  have  certain- 
ly been  spoiled  in  the  cooking.     But  !Miss  Bulmer  was  fortunately 
silenced  at  the  most  dangerous  crisis  of  the  affair,  and  was  persua- 
ded to  listen  quite  long  enough  to  learn  that  grand-mamma  had 
already  consented,  in  i^egard  to  the  especial  wishes  of  the  damsel, 
to  attend  the  Golden  Christmas  at  Bulmer  Barony — the  impor- 
tance of  the  event  seeming  to  justify  the  concession — it  being  the 
hundredth  year  since  Christmas  was  celebrated  in  the  same  fami- 
ly and  household.     You  may  see  on  the  gables  of  the  house,  in 
huge  iron  figures  1-7-5-1 !     It  was  the  Golden  Year  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  ancient  fabric — ancient  for  the  civilization  of  our  coun- 
try— which  promises  to  attain  the  decrepitude  of  age,  without  reali- 
zing any  of  the  famous  dust  and  dignity  of  the  antique.    Though 
not  exactly  a  favourite  with  Madame  Girardin,  our  excellent  maid- 
en sister  was  not  by  any  means  the  object  of  such  dislike  as  had 
hitherto  been  felt  for  her  brother  by  the  former  ;  and  the  first  bu- 
siness over,  that  of  the  invitation,  the  parties  had  a  long  domestic 
and  parish  chat  together,  which  brought  them  still  nearer  in  social 


WHICH   AUGURS   AN   AFFAIR   OF   B0AR8.  118 


respects.  Of  course,  the  two  more  ancient  ladies  looked  together  at 
the  pigs  and  poultry,  and — a  matter  of  equal  unctuousness  in  the 
sight  of  both — the  best  way  of  dressing  and  curing  sausages,  oc- 
cupied an  interesting  half-hour  to  itself.  You  will  at  length  sup- 
pose the  interview  over,  and  the  maiden  sister  departed. 

"  Well,  really,"  quoth  Madame  Girardin,  "  it  shows  that  the  good 
folks  of  the  *  Barony'  are  coming  to  their  senses  at  last.  I  do  not 
see,  ray  child,  aft^r  the  soHcitude  they  have  shown,  how  I  could 
possibly  escape  this  visit ;  and  then,  my  dear,  it's  on  your  account 
too,  you  must  remember." 

"  Certainly,  mamma,"  returned  the  artful  little  puss,  "  you  have 
always  been  good  to  me  !  You  know,  mamma^  you  have  to  yield 
to  my  wishes." 

And  she  vn-apt  her  fairy-like  arms  about  the  neck  of  the  vener- 
able Hecate,  and  kissed  her  as  fondly  as  you  or  I  would  have 
done  the  most  rose-lipped  virgin  in  the  world. 

But  kissing  is  not  now  our  cue — 

"  This  is  no  world 
To  play  with  mammels,  and  to  tilt  with  lips." 

We  have  other  and  very  different  games  on  hand.  I  am  signal- 
led for  the  Wallet  and  the  Strawberry  Clubs — both  hunting  Socie- 
ties— and  both  occurring  the  same  week.  Everybody  knows,  of 
course,  that  the  clubs  of  the  gentry  exist  in  all  our  parishes,  the  hunt- 
ers assembhng  weekly  or  semi-monthly,  hunting  the  better  part  of 
the  day,  dining  together  at  the  Club  House,  or  at  some  central 
point  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  wallet  club,  by  its  name,  shows 
the  process  for  providing  the  dinner.  Each  hunter^carries  his  wal- 
let stored  with  creature  comforts  and  a  doomed  bottle.  The  Ma- 
jor and  myself  were  parties  to  both  hunts,  but  neither  of  us  suc- 
ceeded, on  these  occasions,  in  getting  a  shot.  We  spent  a  merry 
1 1  day,  however,  with  the  good  fellows  of  the  parish.  But  we 
II  had  anoiher  sport  in  reserve,  of  rather  different  character,  t5 
?i  10*  . 

h 


I'i 


114  THE   OOLDXH   CHBZSTMJLIU 


which  a  large  party  was  invited;  the  affair  to  come  oflf  two 
days  before   Christmas.      You  are   aware  that,  in  the  larger 
swamp  and  forest  ranges  of  our  low  country,  where  population  is 
sparse,  the  hog  runs  absolutely  wild.    He  is  hunted  up  as  the 
season  approaches  when  it  is  necessary  to  fatten  him  for  the  sham- 
bles.    Sometimes  hogs  will  escape  all  notice  for  years.     Turned 
into  the  range  after  being  marked,  they  flourish,  or  famish,  on  the 
mast,  just  as  the  seasons  decree.     Sometimes  they  will  show 
themselves  sluggishly  fat,  lying  on  sunny  days  of  the  ¥rinter  in 
heaps  of  half-rotted  pine  straw,  enjo}'ing  themselves  in  the  fashion 
of  Diogenes — asking  nothing  from  man  or  fate  but  the  small 
amount  of  sunshine  which  reaches  their  repose  through  the  tops 
of  two  or  three  grouped  pines  or  gums.     The  acorns  are  plenty. 
They  have  fed  fat  that  season,  and  are  gruntingly  good  natured, 
and  gi'owlingly  sedate.     You  may  walk  over  them  and  into  them, 
without  irritating  their  self-esteem ;  almost  without  disturbing  their 
slumbers.     But  the  case  Is  otherwise  in  seasons  when  the  mast 
fails.     Then  they  are  gaunt  and  wolfish.     Then  they  growl  sav- 
agely,  and  you  must  not  tread  wantonly  upon  their  sensibilities. 
They  drowse  no  longer  in  the  sunshine  than  they  can  help.     The 
goad  of  necessity  is  ever  at  their  flanks.     They  hear  perpetually  in 
their  ears  the  voice  of  a  beastly  fate  which  cries,  "  Root  pig  or  die !" 
and  as  they  hear,  each  lank  and  angular  porker  thrusts  his  long 
snout  into  the  earth,  and  stirs  the  tields,  from  which  the  planter 
has  reaped,  more  thoroughly  than  the  plough-share.     The  potato 
fields,  the  ground-nut  pateh,  are  thus  burrowed  into,  and  the  mea- 
gre supplies,  thus  gleaned  after  the  progress  of  the  farmer,  suf- 
fice for  a  while,  not  to  fatten  the  aninuil,  but  to  keep  him  aUve.— • 
Even  these  fail,  in  season,  and  the  farmer  then,  through  rare  be- 
nevolence, sends  forth  his  grazier,  who,  with  a  daily  sack  of  corn, 
apportions  to  each,  a  small  allowance,  ujx)n  which  he  consents  to 
live  a  Httle  longer.     In  this  condition,  the  neglected  hogs,  grown 
Urger,  and  given  to  wandering  through  extensive  and  almost  im- 


WHICH   AUGURS    AN   AFFAIR    OF   BOARS.  115 


! 


penetrable  recesses  of  swamp  and  thicket,  become  very  wild  and 
savage.     They  turn  readily  upon  the  dogs,  and  it  requires  a  very 
I       vigorous  cur,  indeed,  and  a  very   bold  one,  to  take  them  by  the 
\       throat      They  will  sometimes  give  fierce  battle  to  the  hunter 
?       even,  on  horseback,  and  have  been  known  to  inflict  serious  if  not 
fatal  wounds  upon  the  horse ;  while  the  rider,  himself,  must  be 
wary  enough  in  the  encounter  if  he  would  escape  from  hurt.  The 
long  white  tusks  of  an  angry  boar,  which  has  never  been  honour- 
ed by  the  annual  tribute  of  the  barn,  or  mollified  by  the  pickings 
of  the  farm-yard,  are  no  trifling  implements  of  battle,   ra^^hing 
short  and  sudden,  against  the  tliighs  or  ribs  of  the  heedless  hunt- 
ers. 

It  was  with  no  small  pleasure  that  Major  Bulmer  was  ad^^sed 
a  week  or  so  before  Christmas,  by  his  overseer,  that  he  had  found 
out  the  hiding  place,  in  a  neighbouring  swamp,  of  a  gang  of  "  wild 
hogs"  having  his  brand.  Two  of  them  were  described  as  boars 
of  the  largest  size  and  fiercest  character.  Tlie  Major  instantly 
conceived  the  idea  of  a  lx)ar-hunt.  It  was  his  pride  to  emulate 
as  much  as  possible,  the  character  of  the  ancient  English,  and  to 
practice  those  sports,  the  neglect  of  which,  he  insisted,  were  the 
first  signs  of  the  degeneracy  of  the  age.  Tlio  introduction  re- 
cently, into  the  parish,  of  the  jousts  and  tiltings  of  the  knight* 
of  the  middle  ages, — as  hath  been  well  recorded  by  the  antiqua- 
rian chronicler  of  the  Charleston  Courier, — served,  perhaps,  to 
suggest  the  present  enterprise  particularly  to  his  mind.  And  the 
fact  that  the  Boar's  Head  constituted,  in  old  times,  the  pn'cminent 
dish  at  every  feudal  English  table  on  Christmas  day,  made  him 
resolve  that  this  grim  trophy  should  also  adorn  his  own,  on  the 
'^  approaching  anniversary.     To  some  six  or  eight   of  the  young 

knights  who  had  distinguished  themselves  at  the  last  tournament, 
j  proper  notice  was  given,  and,  at  the  time  appointed,  we  had  the 
?  pleasure  of  seeing  them  assemble,  each  armed  with  a  boar  spear 

■         and  couteau  dt  chaue.    There  were  the  Knights  of  St.  John,  and 


i 


t.i_ 


116  >  THK  OOIDXir  CHRISTMAS. 


of  Santee ;  Knights  of  the  Rose  and  of  the  Dragon ;  Knights  of  the 
Bleeding  Heart,  and  of  the  Swan ;  and  others,  whom  I  need  not 
name.  I  confess  to  figuring  as  the  Knight  of  Keawah, — the  old 
Indian  name  of  Ashley  River, — while  a  young  friend,  from  the  city 
also,  came  up  in  season  to  enact  the  part  of  the  Knight  of  Etiwan — 
or  of  Cooper  River.  It  was  a  proper  day  which  we  took  for  the 
sport, — dry,  and  a  mellow  sunshine  in  the  heavens  and  upon  the 
earth.  We  rode  under  the  guidance  of  the  overseer,  and  un- 
der the  lead  of  the  Knight  of  the  Dragon,— the  Major  being  still 
a  Httle  too  sore  and  stiff  to  head  the  paity,  though  nothing  short 
of  a  broken  limb  could  have  kept  him  from  partaking  of  the  ad- 
venture. We  took  with  us  but  five  dogs,  but  these  were  of  known 
blood  and  courage.  These  were  Clench,  Gripe,  Wolf,  Bull,  and 
Belcher.  It  happened,  though  wo  did  not  know  it  when  we  set 
out,  that  wo  were  followed  by  another, — a  stranger,— which  no- 
body knew, — a  gaunt,  gray  boagle,  of  very  long  body,  and  a  mo- 
dest, rather  sneaking  deportment.  He  had  not  waited  for  enlist- 
ment, received  no  bounty,  and,  seeking  only  the  bonom-  of  the 
thing,  went  as  an  obsciu*e  volunteer.  We  never  ncticed  his  ap- 
pearance until  we  were  in  the  thick  of  the  fight. 

The  dogs  knew  very  well  what  we  were  after.  One  of  them, 
following  the  overseer,  had  tracked  the  prey  before.  We  had, 
however,  some  trouble  and  a  long  ride  to  find  them,  as  they  had 
changed  their  hiding  places  repeatedly  since  the  day  of  their  dis- 
coveiy.  The  dog's  scattered  in  the  search.  They  had  penetrated 
a  great  mucky  bog,  at  several  points,  while  the  hunters  skirted  it, 
waiting  for  the  signal.  An  occasional  yelp,  or  bark,  would  at  times 
excite  us,  but,  for  a  while,  we  were  disappointed.  At  length,  one 
of  the  dogs  gave  tongue,  shortly  and  quickly,  and  with  evident 
anger  in  his  tone.  Tlie  hunter  is  apt  to  know  his  dogs  by  their 
voices.     The  Major  said, — 

"  That's  Belcher, — a  sure  dog, — better  to  report  truly  than  to 
fight  fiercely.     Let's  put  in." 


WHICH    AUGURS    AN    AFFAIR    OF    BOARS.  117 


'^ 


With  the  words,  we  spurred  forward  in  the    direction  of  the 
sounds,  making  but  slow  headway  tlirough  the  thick  matted  copse 
and  underbrush  which  covered  the  entrance.     But  we  got  through 
at  Inst,  and  found  ourselves  in  a  wood,  where   the  trees  were  of 
considerable  size,  standing  sufficiently  open, — gum,  water-oak,  and 
pine, — with  occasional  patches  of  gall  bushes,  and  dense  masses, 
here  and  there,  of  cane,  bramble  and  shrubs,  with  thin  flats  of 
4      water  lying  between,  and  leaving  little  tussocky  beds,  high  and  dry, 
on  which  we  found  frequent  but  abandoned  beds  of  the  beasts  we 
were  in  search  of.     We  rode  forward  now  at  a  trot.  Belcher,  the 
dog  giving  tongue  more  rapidly,  and,  being  now  joined  by  another 
dog,  whose  bark  was  less  frequent,  but  very  fierce ;  and  one  which 
the  Major  did  not  recognize ; — a  fact  which  somewhat  worried  him. 
Soon,  we  saw  the  overseer,  with  two  other  dogs,  approaching  from 
a  point  on  our  right ;  and,  as  wo  were  joining,  the  form  of  the  ab- 
sent dog.  Gripe,  came  rushing  by  us  from  the  rear,  and  making  for 
the  scene  of  clamour,  which  appeared  to  rise  from  a  recess  in  the 
wood  still  beyond  us.     This  we  could  attain  only  by  passing  through 
another  dense  skirt  of  undergrowth,  vines,  shrubs,  canes  and  gall 
bushes.     Four  dogs  we  had  just  marked  as  they  passed,  yet  we 
had  heard  two  tonfnies  within  the  covert.     W^e  had  no  time  to 
speculate  upon  the  surplus  *  tongue ';  the  clamour  was  momently 
increasing.     The  enemy  was  c\idently  brought  to  bay.     Poising 
our  boar  spears  aloft,  we  forced  our  way  through  the  copse,  at  the 
expcTLse  of  some  scratched  faces,  torn  skirts,,  and  caps  lost  for  the 
moment.     Breaking  into  the  opening,  the  whole  scene  was  appa- 
rent at  a  glance,  and  in  one  of  those  very  spots  where,  our  object 
being  to  see  and  to  engage  in  the  mele^^  wc  should  have  chosen  it 
to  occur.    There  was  a  spectacle  indeed.     There  were  three  hogs 
of  immense  size,  of  the  breed,  called,  I  think,  the  '  Irish  Grazier.' 
They  were  long  bodied  animals,  with  long  legs,  grisly  and  angu- 
lar in  aspect  and  outline,  and  all  with  ominous  tusks.     There  was 
a  huge  BOW,  very  thin,  with  some  eight  or  ten  pigs.    There   were 


118  THE  golds:;*  chhistmas. 


besides,  two  or  three  good  sized  shoats.  A  single  boar,  and  he,  the 
Inrgent,  soemod  to  bo  in  good  condition,  lie  was  evidently  one 
of  those  fierce,  insolent  and  powerful  boants,  wlio  are  known  to 
plant  their  shoulders  against  a  wonn  fence,  and  by  main  force  to 
shove  it  over.  These  were  all  grouped  together,  the  pigs  within 
the  circle,  so  as  to  present  a  front  on  every  hand,  when  we  came 
in  sight,  llie  dogs  had  surrounded  them,  but  kept  at  a  decent 
distance,  Tluy  became  more  adventurous  tlm  moment  we  ap- 
peared, and  dashed  gallantly  in  among  the  herd.  But  it  was  a 
word  and  a  blow  only ;  tlie  sharp  bark  was  followed  by  a  sharper 
cry,  and  we  could  see  the  blood-stains  instantly  upon  the  should- 
ers of  one  hmping  beast,  and  the  gash  along  the  ribs  of  another, 
who  howled  hiniHelf  out  of  the  fight,  only  to  sink  down,  seemingly 
fainting  in  the  water. 

"  Bull  hus  got  his  quietus,  I'm  afraid,"  quoth  the  Major,  poising 
his  spear,  and  preparing  for  a  charge. 

"  Stop,  Major,"  quoth  the  Knight  of  the  Dragon ;  "  let's  have 
fair  play.  It  will  not  bo  easy  to  have  a  chance,  or  to  work  suc- 
cessfully, while  they  keep  herded  in  that  hollow  square.  We  must 
try  and  Hcpi-ntUi  tlium.  If  you  will  sutler  nu«,  1  will  but  prick  one 
or  more  of  the  beastsj  with  my  spear,  and  allow  the  dogs  to  break 
in*o  their  ranks.     At  all  events,  sutler  me  to  try  it." 

The  Major  held  up  somewhat  unwillingly,  and  the  young  Knight 
darted  forward  g/illantly,  brought  up  his  nt^'cd,  which  was  equally 
fiery  and  shy,  with  u  sharp  thruMt,  into  Ijoth  llankw,  of  a  Spanish 
rowell,  and,  rising  in  his  stin'ups,  dexterously  passed  the  broad  iron 
spear  along  the  shoulder  and  sides  of  one  of  the  largest  boars. 
The  savage  beast  in  a  moment  snapped  at  the  asHailing  instrument, 
but  fortunately  took  hold  of  the  })art  only  where  it  was  sheathed 
with  iron.  I  Jo  shook  hiniHolf  free  from  it  a  monu'nt  after,  and  as 
it  was  withdrawn  instantly,  he  wheeled  about  in  the  direction 
of  his  assailant,  who  had  now  ridden  past.  This  changed  his  at- 
titude, exposing  his  broad  flank  to  the  Major,  whom  nothing  now 


WHICH    AUOtJRS    AN    AFFAIR    OF   BOARS.  119 


could  keep  from  the  charge.     He  made  it  with  commendable 
spirit,  and  drove  his  spear  clean  through  the  neck  of  the  boar. 
Tlie  wounded  beast,  with  an  angry  crj',  turned  suddenly  before  the 
shaft  could  be  withdrawn,  and  the  iron  head  was  broken  off  in  the 
wound.     The  suffering  must  have  been  extreme,  for  he  wildly 
dashed  at  the  steed  of  his  assailant,  which  backed  suddenly  against 
a  c\i)ress,  reared,  plunged  and  dashed  forwards,  almost  into  the 
circle  where  the  other  hogs  were  still  collected ;  and,  but  that  the 
Major  was  a  famous  horseman,  he  would  have  been  unseated.  Tlie 
wounded  boar  was  not,  however,  permitted  to  carry  the  affair  after 
his  own  fashion.     The  Knight  of  Santee  came  to  the  Major's  res- 
cue, and  adroitly  drove  his  iron  in  between  the  gnashing  teeth  of 
the  brute,  piercing  obliquely  through  the  neck  again,  and  compel- 
ling another  cry,  between  a  gi*tmt  and  a  roar.     The  blood  gushed 
freely  from  the  wounds,  and  the  scent  of  it  had  the  usual  stimulat- 
ing effect  upon  the  dogs.     The  first  in  was  the  gaunt  gray,  of 
whom  nobody  knew  anything, — the  volunteer  in  the  expedition. 
He  had  the  boar  by  the  nose  in  a  moment.     A  single  toss  and 
twist  threw  the  moaster  down,  and,  leaping  from  his  horse,  the 
Knight  of  the  Dragon  passed  his  keen  couteau  de  chasse  over  his 
weasand. 

The  other  parties,  hogs,  dogs,  and  knights,  were  by  no  means 
idle  during  this  progress.  The  operations  of  the  Major,  by  which 
one  of  the  grimmest  of  tlie  boars  had  been  withdrawn  from  the 
circle,  left  it  penetrable.  The  dogs  da<«hed  in  once  more.  The 
pigs  squealed,  the  sow  gave  battle  fiercely,  but  was  taken  by  the 
snout,  by  the  dog  Gripe,  and  turned  over  in  a  jiffy  ;  the  overseer, 
jumping  down  and  tjring  her  with  certain  buckskin  thongs,  with 
which  he  had  come  properly  provided.  The  capture  of  the  pigs 
continued  to  employ  him  during  the  rest  of  the  affair.  For  this, 
we  had  a  fair  field ;  and,  by  the  way,  the  noblest  quarry.  The 
Knight  of  the  Dragon,  hke  a  courteous  gentleman,  kept  aloof, 
leaving  the  sport  to  those  who  had  taken  no  hand  in  the  killing  of 


•* 


180  TBI    OOLDXN    OHRISTMAI.  | 

V  1  } 

X 

the  first  boar.  Major  Bulmer  was  disarmed,  by  the  breakiiig  of 
his  spear,  and  looked  on  with  rare  impatience,  while  the  oonilict 
continued.  It  was  not  allowed,  be  it  remembered,  to  use  any  other 
weapons  than  spear  and  knife.  There  had  been  little  sport,  and 
none  of  the  clasMical,  in  the  ati'uir,  but  for  tliis  rfntrictiun.  The  two 
remaining  boars  confronted  ub,  with  tlieir  little,  round,  sharp,  ma- 
hgnant  eyes,  telling  us,  as  well  as  words  could  do,  what  we  might  i^ 
expect  from  their  monstrouM  whito  iuhUs,  which  stuck  out  throe 
goodly  inches  or  more  from  either  jaw.  To  seporate  these  two,  to 
divide  our  forces  ugaiuHt  them,  and  to  begin  tlio  atUick,  were  all 
matters  of  very  brief  arrangement.  To  the  Knights  of  St.  John,  • 
the  Bleeding  Heart,  and  myself,  were  assigned  the  conquest  of  the 
largest  of  the  grim  graziers.  The  second  named  dashed  forward 
valiantly,  and  delivered  his  spear,  well  addressed,  fairly  at  the  throat 
of  the  brute ;  but,  turning  suddenly,  at  the  moment — not  disposed  ,, 
to  wait  for  th«  awnault — he  made  at  tlio  hoi-so  of  tho  attacking  ^ 
knight,  who  barely  recovered  himself  in  season  to  wheel  about  and 
escape  the  glaring  tusks  that  almost  caught  the  courser's  sides. 
Following  up  his  onslaught,  I  put  in,  successfully  taking  the  fierce 
brute  just  behind  the  ear  and  below  ihe  junetion  of  tho  head  and 
neek.  Tho  hpear  j)aKH('(l  in, — a  w<'vere  t!»ii»h(, — whieh  was  only 
arrested  by  the  skull.  1  was  fortunate  in  drawing  forth  the  wea- 
pon before  he  could  turn  about,  and  seize  upon  it,  Jis  ho  strove  to 
do.  At  this  moment,  no  aspect  could  bo  more  full  of  rage  and 
fury  than  that  whieh  tho  boar  })resent«Ml.  His  baek  was  aljsolutely 
curved  likt^  a  bow,  tho  bristles  were  rained,  ercet,  and  standing  out 
in  points  like  tliose  of  the  ix)rcupine ;  his  eyes  seemed  to  fljish  a 
grey,  malignant  light,  like  so  much  white  heat,  while  the  biist- 
ling  brows,  long  and  wiry,  stood  out  straight.  The  teeth  and  tusks 
were  bare ;  and,  standing,  regarding  us  with  a  sidelong  watchful- 
ness, there  was  a  mixture  of  rjigo  and  subtlety  in  the  look  of  tho 
boar,  that  showed  him  no  merciful  customer,  could  he  ever  make 
himself  fairly  felt.  That  he  had  the  fullest  purpose  to  do  so,  every 
raised  and  corded  muscle  of  his  body  seemed  to  declare. 


WHICH    AUGtJRS    AN    ATtAlR   O^   BOARS.  15J1 


I  It  was  a  point  of  honour  to  give  the  ICnight  of  St.  John  a 

^         chance,  so  I  held  my  spear  upHfted,  and  sufiered  him  to  ride  up  to 
I         the  charge.     To  say  that  the  Cavaher  in  question  is  one  of  the 
?         best  riders  in  the  country,  one  of  the  best  exercised  in  the  lance,  and 
can  ride  at  a  ring  -with  a  grace  to  charm  the  most  fastidious  of  the 
damsels  of  the  parish,  would  be  mere  surplusage.     To  see  him, 
■with  his  beaver  up, — by  which  I  mean  his  fur  cap,  with  patent 
leather  peak, — his  enormous  ma^s  of  sable  whiskers,  and  elabo- 
rately twirled  mustache, — to  behold  him  rising  in  the  stirrup  and 
I         levelling  tlic  spear, — then,  as  he  drives  the  spur  into  the  sides  of 
I         the  courser,  to  sec  him  lance  the  direct  shaft  into  the  throat  of  the 
I         beast,  a  seemingly  mortal  thrust — would  have  given  a  grim  delight 
I         to  any  ancient  Nimrod  of  the  Gcmian  forest*;.     One  would  have 
^         supposed  such  a  thrust^  so  well  deliverer),  with  so  much  equal  ad- 
J         dress  and  force,  quite  enough  to  liave  settled  the  accounts  in  full 
of  the  N-ictim ;  but  not  so !     It  seemed  to  act  only  as  a  new  spur 
to  his  fury.     He   da<;hed  headlong  at  the  horse  of  his  assailant — • 
which  curved  with  a  sweep  handsomely  out  of  his  way — then,  ^v^th 
a  strange  caprice,  dashed  on  the  opposite  side,  just  as  the  Knight 
of  the  Bleeding  Heart  was  slowly  approaching,  lance  uplifted,  and 
never  dreaming  of  his  enjoying  another  chance  at  the  grim  enemy. 
•  He  was  taken  completely  by  surprise,  and,  before  he  could  antici- 
pate the  danger,  or  wheel  out  of  the  way,  the  sharp,  white,  feloni- 
ous tusk  of  the  boar  rashed  against  the  foreshoulder  of  his  be«ast, 
swift,  and  deep,  so  that  you  could  hear  the  griding  of  the  keen  in- 
strument against  the  bone.     With  a  terrible  snort  of  fear,  his 
mane  rising  and  ears  backing,  the  horse  dashed  wildly  off,  at  an 
acute  angle,  turning  as  if  upon  a  well  oiled  pivot,  working  under 
electricity ;  and,  in  the  twinkling  of  a  musquito's  wing,  the  hand- 
some young  Knight  of  the  Bleeding  Heart,  might  be  seen  describ- 
ing a  short  evolution  in  the  air,  vulgarly  called  the  summerset — 
I         supposed  to  be  only  a  vulgar  contraction  for  "  some  upset,"  or 
i         **  some  overset," — and  falling  incontinently  into  the  midst  of  the 

i  11 


4i. 


•^^^ 


■«• 


131  THB   OOLDJBN    OBRIflTMlfl. 

conflict  going  on  just  then,  between  the  remaining  boar  and  the 
4^ J'  Knightu  of  Etiwan,  the  Hose,  and  the  Swan.  Out  of  one  peril 
'^  into  another,  the  Knight  of  J^lie  Bleeding  Ucart  seemed  in  danger 
f  ,  of  literally  verifying  hii*  claim  to  tlio  title.  Of  a  certainty,  that  of 
the  Broken  Head,  seemed  absolutely  unavoidable.  Nor  was  this 
the  only  danger;  for,  at  the  precise  moment  when  he  fell  into  the 
midst  of  the  striving  jmrtics,  the  sj^>cars  of  the  Knights  of  Etiwan 
nnd  the  Rose,  had  actually  crossed  in  the  throat  of  the  boar,  and 
k  '  he  was  gnashing,  and  rashing,  and  dashing,  on  both  sides  alter- 
nately, keeping  up  a  sort  of  see-saw  motion,  the  crossed  spears 
maintaining  for  him  the  balance  admirably,  and  the  two  knights, 
('uring  his  phrensied  movements,  finding  it  difficult  to  withdraw 
their  weapons  from  his  tough  side.  You  have  heard  of  the  little 
Canadian  hunter,  who  was  pitched  by  his  horse  among  a  herd  of 
galloping  buffaloes,  and  straddled  the  great  bull,  and  was  horsed 
from  him  to  the  back  of  the  great  cow,  then  precipitated  among 
and  over  and  between  and  through  and  above,  a  forest  of  little 
calves  1  Such,  on  a  minor  scale,  was  the  sort  of  progress  made  by 
our  Knight  of  the  Bleeding  Heart — fii-st  over  the  groat  boar,  then 
flirted  off  upon  the  sow — who  lay  prostrate  and  tied — then  rolling 
from  her  embrace  among  the  swarm  of  little  piggies,  who  were 
grouped  around  her,  ten  in  number,  each  with  nose  to  the 
ground,  and  tail  curling  in  the  air.  He  was  thus  tossed  about, 
■with  a  most  feathery  facility,  for  a  moment,  settling  down  finally 
like  a  stone,  in  very  close  proximity  to  the  sow.  Their  groans  were 
BO  mingled,  that ' it  was  not  easy  to  distinguish  between  them; 
and,  confounding  them  together  for  a  moment,  we  almost  appre- 
hended that  the  Knight  of  the  Bleeding  Heart  would  soon  be  in 
■want  of  an  epitaph.  Several  of  us -dismounted  and  rushed  to  his 
assistance,  Major  Bulmer,  in  the  meanwhile,  eagerly  rushing  in  to 
slit  the  jugular  of  the  boar,  who  had  succumbed  to  the  Knight  of 
-  Santee  and  myself;  and  the  Knights  of  the  Dragon  and  Swan  do- 
ing the  same  good  service  for  the  third  boar,  with  which  he  and 
the  Knights  of  the  Rose  and  Etiwan  had  been  doing  battle.    We 


A    FLARE    UP    BETWEEN    MOTHER    AND   DAUGHTER.  128 


.V3 


picked  up  the  champion  of  the  Bleeding  Heart,  and  found  him 
with  bleeding  nostrils.  This  was  his  worst  injury.  IIo  was  stun- 
ned and  considerably  scratched,  but,  alighting  just  upon  the  boar's 
back,  tilted  next  upon  the  sow's,  and,  rolling  over  finally  among 
the  pigs,  the  shock  of  his  fj\ll  was  measurably  broken.  It  might 
have  been  otherwise  a  fatal  one ;  for  he  was  slung  from  the  saddle,  *" 
headlong,  hke  a  stone.  It  was  surprising,  too,  that  he  should  have 
been  thus  unhorsed,  for  he  ranked  as  a  first  rate  rider.  But  he  was 
taken  by  surprise,  and  the  lack  of  ^^gilance  is  usually  the  wreck  of 
skill.  The  worst  of  his  misfortune  is  to  come.  Tliat  he  should 
have  suffered  so  little  was  the  evil  feature  in  his  case.  ITad  lefj,  or 
arm,  or  neck,  been  broken,  the  mishap  would  have  risen  into  tragic 
dignity.  As  it  resulted,  it  was  simply  ludicrous,  and  the  Knight 
of  the  Bleeding  Heart  was  every  where  laughed  at  as  the  Knight 
of  the  Bloody  Nose! 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  FLARE  UP  BErVVEEN  MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 

We  bagged  om*  prey  as  well  as  wo  could.  The  overseer  had 
pro\-idcntly  ordered  a  cart  to  follow  the  pirty,  and  our  spoils  filled 
$  it: — the  dead  hogs  being  at  the  bottom,  while  the  maternal 
porker,  still  unhurt,  with  her  numerous  progeny,  grunted  all  the 
way  home,  from  a  spacious  but  bloody  couch  in  the  centre  of  her 
slain  associates.  I  forbear  numerous  small  det<iils  of  our  adventure, 
satisfied  to  have  given  all  the  material  facts.  I  may  mention  here, 
that,  subsequently,  one  of  the  party,  who  possessed  a  wonderful 
faculty  for  caricature,  executed  a  drawing  to  the  life,  and  brimfuU 
of  spirit,  of  the  serio-ludicro  exhibition  of  the  Knight  of  the 
Bleeding  Heart,  at  the  moment  of  his  unexpected  descent  among 
the  swine.  Ho  is  bestraddling  the  mammoth  boar,  on  all  fours, 
hands  thrown  forward,  as  if  grasping  at  the  tail  of  the  beast,  while 
his  legs  are  scattered  *  all  abroad**  over  the  animal's  neck.    The 


Ij^  ^.        TH«   GOLDEN   CHRISTMAS. 


rest  of  the  hogs  are  grouped  around  in  variolas  attitudes,  more  or 
less  influenced  by  the  advenr  of  the  Knight.  The  httlo  pigs,  in 
particular,  with  snouts  uplifted  and  tails  upcurled,  are  recoihng 
with  evident  awe  and  apj:  rehomion,  seeming  to  ask, — *  Heavens  1 
what  are  we  to  look  for  next?*  Tlio  picture  is  preserved  with  great 
%  care  at  the  Bulmor  Barony,  where  it  may  be  seen  at  any  moment,* 
much  to  the  secret  disquiet  of  the  graceful  young  Knight,  who  is 
the  hero  of  the  scene. 

But  I  must  not  linger  in  the  narration  of  such  episodes,  even 
though  they  constituted  the  chief  exercises  and  amusements  of  the 
Christmas  holidays.  Day  and  night,  for  two  weeks,  we  were  on 
the  move, — now  to  this  club  house,  or  that, — this  or  that  dance  or 
dinner  party, — ^seeing  new  faces  daily  with  the  old  ones,  and  hav- 
ing no  moment  unemployed  with  brisk  and  pleasant  exercises.  I 
must  not  forget  to  mention  that,  in  the  meanwhile,  Ned  Bulmer 
grow  bettor,  and,  as  his  sorenesses  of  body  lessened,  those  of  his 
heart  seemed  to  increased.  As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  go  forth,  we 
went  together  on  a  Nisit  to  Bonneau  Place,  where  he  had  the  feli- 
city of  enjoying  a  more  cinl  Velcome  from  the  grandmother  than 
he  had  altogether  expected,  and  where  I  succeeded,  by  going  out 
with  thrit  excellent  old  lady  to  admire  her  poultry,  in  giving  him 
a  chance  for  a  half  hour's  sweet  secret  chat  with  Paula.  Of  course, 
nobody  cares  to  listen  to  the  prattle  of  young  lovers,  who  are  mere 
children  always,  the  sympathies  and  afflictions  leaving  them  no 
motive  for  the  exercise  of  thoughts. 

Leaving  it  to  the  reader's  imagination  and  experience,  to  supply 
this  portion  of  my  chapter,  let  mo  peep,  for  a  while,  into  the  habi- 
tation of  ra^  own  cynosure.     Wo  will  suppose  ourselve:^,  therefore, 

•Thia  was  true  at  the  inonio:it  of  the  writing  ;  but,  in  a  note  just  received 
from  Mr.  Cooper,  he  tells  me  that  the  picture  has  disappeared,  no  body  knowt 
how,  feloniously  cut  out  of  its  frame,  while  it  hun<j  in  the  passage  way  ;  Major 
Bulmer  being  inclined  to  think  that  the  deed  was  done,  either  by  the  young 
Kiii;jht  or  some  of  the  Porker  family,  ihey  being  the  only  partiea  interested  ia 
destroying  the  proofa  of  such  an  advcoture. — Editor. 


J*- 


A   FLARE   UP   BETWEEN   MOTHER   AND   DAUGHTER.  125    ' 


-■*•» 


at  Mazyck  Place,  cn  the  morning  of  the  day  when  Maclamo  Cirardin 
and  Paula  roceivod  their  invitations  to  the  grand  fostivnl  to  come  off, 
on  Christmas,  at  tho  Parony.     Mrs.  Mazyck  and  Beatrice  had  re- 
ceived invitations  at  the  same  time,  and  they,  too,  required  to  sit  in 
council  upon  the  matter.     The  subject  was  one  of  great  doubt  and 
deUberation  in  the  one  household  as  in  the  other,     ^fost  people  of 
insular  life,  living  in  tlie  country,  and  only  occasionally  in  society, 
are  tenacious-  and  jealous  of  their  social  claims  in  much  gi'cater  de- 
gree than  people  of  a  city.     Seclusion  is  a  great  nurse  of  self- 
esteem,  and  all  matters,  however  minute  and  unimportant,  which 
affect  the  social  position  or  estimates,  arc  weighed  with  a  nicety 
and  observance,  in  rural  life,  which  really  provoke  a  smile  only 
among  persons  to  whom  the  jostle  with  humanity  is  a  daily  and 
constantly  recuning  thing.     In  the  city,  the  crowd  is  always  com- 
pensative for  the  ill-treatment  of  the  clique.     You  care  little  for 
^       that  denial  or  neglect  from  the  one  group,  which  is  more  than  made 
up  to  you  by  the  attentions  of  another.     You  find  refuge  in  one  set 
from  the  exchisivencss  of  its  rival ;  and,  where  the  city  is  a  large 
one,  there  is  •:=»  class  or  street,  without  a  suthciently  solacing  circle, 
in  which  y(Mi  may  find  wit,  inteUigence,  grace  of  manner,  and  vir- 
tue, qiiitc   adequate,  at  once,  to  your  claims  and  your  desires. 
Accordingly,  you  miss  no  consideration,  and  are  comparatively  heed- 
less of  neglect.     People,  tacitly,  make  their  communities  on  every 
side,  and  he  must  be  a  poor  devil,  indeed,  who  may  not  readily  find 
all  the  companionship  which  suits  his  tastes  and  necessities.     But, 
the  case  is  far  otherwise  in  the  sparsely  settled  abodes  of  our  inte- 
rior ;  and  tliis  is  just  in  degree  with  the  real  wealth  and  resources 
of  the  planters.     Large  plantations  push  away  permanent  society, 
and  make  it  inconvenient  to  procure  it  regularly.     Hence,  the  hos- 
pitality of  all  those  regions  which  continually  welcome  their  guests 
from  abroad.     Hence,  again,  a  sort  of  rivalry  among  the  several 
proprietors  in  the  state  which  they  keep  and  the  entertainment  of 
their  guests.    But  this  aside.    Enough  here  to  indicate  the  sort  of 

n* 


r 


126  THX   oBlDSN   CHIUSTMAB.  ^ 


influence  which  helps  to  make  people  tenadous^-^f  every  claim  or 
righ^  and  resentful  of  the  most  shadowy  appearance  of  negleH  or 
flight  The  self-esteem  which  is  continually  nursed,  while  it  is  the 
parent  of  a  character  which  delights  in  noble  exhibitions  and  re- 
volts at  meannesses,  is  yet  apt  to  bo  watchful,  jealous,  suspi- 
cious, and  forever  on  the  qui  vive  to  let  you  understand  that  it  feela 
itself  quite  as  good  as  its  neighbour ;  that  it  is  quite  independent 
of  the  social  sunshine  issuing  from  your  portals  ;  that  it  has  friends 
enough,  and  fortune  enough,  and  guests  enough,  all  of  its  own, 
and  no  thanks  to  any  body, — et  cetera,  et  cetera,  et  cetera/ 

Mrs.  Mazyck  was  a  proud  and  stately  lady,  of  real  worth,  of  ex- 
cellent habits  and  family,  some  wealth,  and  great  hospitality.  But 
she  was  touched  NNith  this  very  infirmity  of  self-esteem,  and  jeal- 
'  ous  self-esteem,  in  considerable  degree.  She  noted  your  absences, 
\  the  infrequency  of  your  calls,  your  faihire  in  solicitude,  your  want 
of  reverence  when  present  She  seemed  to  keep  a  calendar,  in 
which  all  things  were  regularly  set  down  against  your  account. 
She  would  receive  no  excuses, — she  had  no  faith  in  apologies,— 
took  nothing  h)to  consideration, — made  no  allowances, — when 
these  charges  were  once  entered  on  her  books.  You  had  been 
sick  perhaps, — "Hum!  Yesl  so  I  hear,  but  he  could  find  health 

enough  to  call  on  Mrs.  G or  Mrs.  B ."     You  had  been 

very  much  employed  in  settling  the  affairs  of  the.e^t^ite,  had  been 
to  the  city,  and  had  really  .been  too  busy  to  make  any  visits. — 
"  Perhaps !  Yet  it  is  something  curious  that  business  could  not 

keep  him  away  from  the  party  at  Mrs. 's."     True :  but  that 

was  a  family  ri'union,  and  you  went  by  special  invitation.  "  Oh ! 
I  don't  need  to  be  told  of  the  difference  between  a  Hvely  party,  a 
dance  and  a  supj^er,  and  the  dull  duty  of  calling  to  see  a  tedi- 
ous old  woman."  So,  you  miLst  l)eware,  when  actually  within  the 
charmed  circle  of  her  presence,  that  you  linger  not  too  long  beside 
any  other  dame,  whose  state  or  position  is  at  all  com])arablo  to  her 
own ; — so,  beware  also,  that,  when  making  your  resj^'cts  to  her,  you 
betray  not  too  much  eagerness  to  cross  the  room  to  listen  to  the 


A  ^tlars  w  between  mother  and  dauoiher.        127  » 


gay  chat  of  tho  Fs,  or  G\  or  B'g,  or  S's.  You  Tvill  be  remem- 
bered for  all  tbcso offences  agaimthcr atnoitr  proprc.  Thebaughty 
lady  will  as  indifferently  detach  you  from  her  hooks  of  favour,  and 
cast  you  out  into  the  stream,  as  the  angler  casts  off  the  worm,  that, 
having  suffered  the  infliction  of  frequent  nibblings,  is  no  longer 
able  or  willing  to  wriggle  upon  the  hook. 

Behold  her,  as  she  sits,  grave,  dignified  and  stern,  beside  the  fire 
place,  stately  in  her  purple-cushioned  and  luxurious  rocker,  in  that 
trim,  well-furnished  parlour,  great  mirrors  lining  the  lofty  walls, 
and  rich  curtains  of  blue  and  white,  trimmed  with  silver,  subduing 
still  more  the  feeble  hght  of  tho  December  sun,  as  it  glides,  liko 
an  unnoticed  angel,  into  the  apartment.  Tho  old  lady  has  evi- 
dently clad  herself  that  morning  in  her  ancientest  social  buckram. 
Tier  toilet,  as  usual,  has  been  elal>orately  made ; — and  lier  black 
velvet,  flowing  and  abundant,  is  as  smooth  as  the  daily  goings  on 
of  her  household.  Her  tiring  woman  has  dressed  her  hair  with 
more  than  her  wonted  nicety;  and  the  few  curls  which  nature  has 
left  tp  her,  or  which, — making  a  certain  feminine  sacrifice  to  worldly 
notions, — she  has  allott^^d  to  herself,  are  admirably  balanced  on 
each  side  of  her  high  forehead.  Her  movements  are  quite  too 
measured  to  suffer  her  to  decompose  them  throughout  the  whole 
day.  There  they  will  keep  their  place  till  folded  out  of  sight  for 
the  night,  either  beneath  her  night-cap,  or  in  the  nice  little  antique 
rose-wood  cabinet  of  her  boudoir.  She  belongs  to  an  old  school, 
in  which  state  and  form  are  habitual,  and  where,  if  any  thing  fails, 
it  is  nature  only,  and  that  art  which  is  its  proper  shadow, — which 
is  modestly  content  and  happy  when  suffered  to  bo  its  handmaid. 
The  good  lady  meditates  bolt  upright  A  work  table  is  beside 
i  her,  on  which  rests  a  gold-edged,  pink-hued  billet,  the  contents 
partly  legible  to  her  eye  where  it  lies.  She  takes  it  up,  scans  it 
over,  lays  it  down,  and  uphfts  her  eyebrows.  Her  lips,  you  see, 
are  closely  compressed.  The  effect  is  not  a  pleasant  one  on  an 
antique  \Tsage,  particularly  where  the  lips  are  thin.  She  again 
takes  up  the  billet,  but  as  she  hears  a  voice  and  a  footstep,  she 


•.«•  * 


llfS  THE   OOLDSK   CHRISTMAS. 


again  lays  it  upon  the  table,  this  time  with  a  iHjtle  hurry  in  her 
manner.  She  evidently  do^  not  desire  to  bo  seen  meditating  ite 
contents. 

jBeatrice  entei-s,  calm,  sweet,  asi  if  all  her  passions  were  subdued 
to  angels.  Beatrice  possesses  real  dignity,- — a  quality  that  is  free 
from  any  ostentatious  consciousness  of  its  possession.  She  has  no 
affectations  of  any  kind.  No  temper  could  be  more  serene, — no 
sunshine  more  agreeable  in  its  warmth,  or  less  broken  by  the  in- 
terposing shadows  of  vanity,  or  arrogance,  or  pretence,  or  pre- 
eumptiou.  But  I  will  let  Beatrice, — my  Beatrice, — reveal  herself. 
I  will  not  undertake  to  describe  her,  for  1  should  never  know  where 
to  begin,  or  where  to  stop.  Beatrice  quietly  approaches  her  mother, 
and  takes  up  the  billet 

"  Sould  this  not  be  answered  to-day,  mother  ?'* 
,    "  What  is  it,  my  child  ?"  was  the  answer  of  mamma,  profoundly 
ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  note. 

"  The  invitation  of  Major  Buhner  for  Christmas  1" 

"  Oh  ! — ah  ! — and  what  answer  do  you  propose  to  send,  Bea- 
trice?" ■, 

"What  answer,  mother?     AVe  accept,  of  course  I** 

"  I  don't  see  why  6f  course. '  • 

The  damsel  looked  her  surprise.     The  mother  proceeded. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  shall  accept." 

"Indeed!     Why  not?" 

"  You  are  at  liberty  to  do  as  you  please.  You  are  young,  and 
will  like  to  be  among  the  young  people ;  but,  as  it  is  quite  as  much 
on  your  account  as  my  own,  that  I  shall  decline  going  to  Major 
Buhner,  you,  too,  perhaps,  may  see  tlie  propriety  of  following  my 
example." 

"  On  my  account." 

"Yes,  my  child,  on  your  account  partly,  and  partly  on  my  own." 

"Why,  mother,  this  is  very  strange." 

"  You  may  think  so.  Young  jwople  are  very  unobservant,  and 
the  young  people  of  the  present  generation,  I  must  say,  are  quito 


■J 


1 

I 


li 


I 


A    FLARE    UP    BETWEEN    MOTHER    AND    DAUGHTER.  129 


too  indifferent  to  tlic  sort  of  treatment  they  receive.  They  love 
society  too  much ;  they  are  ever  ready  to  take  it  on  any  terms. 
Now,  for  my  part,  /  have  always  been  taught  to  receive  it  as  a 
due,  and  not  as  a  favour,  and  to  welcome  it  as  a  right?  rather  than 
a  benevolence." 

Beatrice  had  witnessed  quite  too  many  instances  of  this  sort  of 
crotchettiness  on  the  part  of  her  excellent  mamma,  not  to  see,  at 
once,  that  her  soup  had  been  temporarily  under- seasoned.     She 
had  acquired  some  skill   in  the  business  of  soothing  the  irritated 
appetite,   and  supplying  the  ingredients  necessary, — to  use   an 
orientalism, — for   the  conserve  of  a  delicious   temper.     But  she 
was  really  taken  by  surprise   at  this  deinonstration  in  the  present 
quarter.     She  had  seen  the  Major  and  her  mamma  exceedingly  in- 
timate only  a  week  or  two  before.     Nay,  she  had  seen  sufficient 
proofs,  by  which  she  had  been  greatly  disquieted,  of  the  secret 
object  which  the  two  parties  had  equally  meditated  of  bringing 
Ned  Bulmer  and  herself  together.     What  had  brought  about  the 
present  alteration  in  the  state  of  affairs  ?     Wliat  had  cooled  off 
the  parties  ?     Beatrice  was  not  unwilling,  I  may  say  in  this  place, 
that  there  should  be  an  end  to  the  conspiracy  against  her  happi- 
ness and  that  of  Ned.     But  she  had  no  desire  that  there  should 
be  a  cloud  and  a  wall  between  the  two  families.     She  was  worried 
accordingly.     Mammas,  she  well  knew,  having  single, — ought  I 
not  rather  to  say  only, — daughters,  are  apt  to  be  fussy  and  fidgetty ; 
just  as  you  see  an  old  hen,  whom  the  hawk  has  robbed  of  every 
chicken  but  one, — making  more  clack  and  clutter,  and  showing 
more  pride  and  pother,  than  all  the  poultry  yard  beside  ; — and 
the  dear  giri  had  long  since  resolved,  that  she,  at  least,  would  not 
contribute  in  any  way  to  make  herself  the  chicken  so  ridiculously 
conspicuous.     There  was   no  more    unpresuming,  unpretending 
damsel,  for  one  of  her  pretensions,  in  the  world.     Now,  as  the  last 
sentence  of  her  mamma  was  tingling  in  her  ears,  she  fancied  she 
could  catch  the  clues  of  her  difficulty ;  but  her  guess  did  not  per- 
suade her  to  spare  the  excellent  old  lady  any  portion  of  the  necea- 


^  180  THS    GOLDEN   CHRISTMAS. 

«     .      ■         ■       * 

Mty  ot*  speaking  out,  in  proper  tenns,  the  subject  of  li^r  embar- 
rassment. .*' 

"  Really,  mamma,  you  speak  in  oracles.  I  can*t  conceive  why 
you  should  speak  of  society  accorded  to  you  as  a  benevolence 
rather  than  as  a  due, — and  that,  too,  on  the  part  of  the  Buhner 
family.  They  seem  to  me  to  have  always  distinguished  you  with 
the  most  becoming  attentions.  Miss  Janet  is  one  of  the  most  do-  % 
cile  and  humble  creatures  in  the  world,  and  she  has  been  solicit-  • 
ously  heedful  of  us  both ;  the  old  Major,  himself,  has  been  so  at- 
tentive, particularly  of  late,  that,  really,  mamma,  I  had  begun  to  A 
entertain  some  apprehensions  that  the  Fates  were  about  to  punish  «' 
me  vdth  a  step-father,  in  order  to  make  me  atone  for  some  of  my 
ofiences."  , 

"Beatrice, — Miss  Mazyck," — with  a  most  freezing  aspect  of  re- 
buke,— the  old  lady  drawing  up  her  knees  and  laying  her  hands 
solemnly  in  her  lap, — "  You  know  not  what  you  are  saying." 

"Olil.yes,  mamma,  I  know  very  well.  How  else  could  I  ac- 
count for  the  long  letter  you  received  from  the  Major  last  sum- 
mer, and  the  long  letter  you  wrote  to  him  in  return,  neither  of 
which  did  you  suffer  mo  to  see,  though  you  do  me  the  honour 
usually  to  make  me  your  amanuensis  with  all  your  other  corres- 
pondents." 

"  There  were  reasons  for  the  exception,  Miss  Mazyck." 

"Precisely,  mamma;  that's  what  I'm  saying, — there  was  a  spe- 
cial reason  for  that  exception " 

"  I  said  reasonSy  not  a  special  reason.  Miss  Mazyck." 

"  Well,  mamma,  and  I  thought  it  only  reasonable  to  conclude 
your  reasons  to  be  resolvable  into  a  special  reason.     When,  after 
our  return,  the  Major  was  the  first  to  call  upon  you,  and  when 
you  took  him  out,  under  the  pretext  of  visiting  the  loom-house,     I' 
and  the  smoke-house,  and  the  poultry-yard,  and  heaven  knows     I 
what  else  ;  and  when  you  were  gone  together  almost  an  hour, —     ' 
how  could  I  suppose  any  thing  else,  than  the  particular  danger  to 
myself,  if  not  to  you,  that  I  have  mentioned  ?" 

I 


A   tlkRK   UP    BETWEEN    MOTHER    AND    DAUGHTER.  131 


"  You  are  disrespectful,  Beatrice." 

"  Surely  not,  mamma." 

"  You  know  not  what  you  are  saying.     You  know  not  the  busi-  ' 
ncss  on  which  Major  Bulraer  wrote  me  that  letter  and  paid  md 
that  visit." 

"Certainly  not,  mamma,  I  only  conjectured,  and  I  give  yoU  my 
conjecture.  As  you  never  condescended  to  let  me  into  the  secret, 
I  naturally  thought  that  it  more  particularly  concerned  yourself." 

"  You  are  a  ver)'^  foolish  child,  Beatrice.  The  letters  concerned 
you,  rather  than  me.  The  visit  was  paid  on  your  account.  K  I 
went  out  with  Major  Bulmer,  yow  were  left  here  with  his  son" 

"  No,  mamma,  you  mistake ;  I  was  left  with  Mr.  Cooper." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Mazyck,  and  that  reminds  me  of  the  first  show  of 
disrespect,  to  our  family,  on  the  part  of  Major  Bulmer's.  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Bulmer  treated  you  with  so  little  consideration,  that  ho  left 
you  as  soon  as  our  backs  were  turned,  and,  when  found,  was  * 
stretched  off  and  sleeping  in  the  librar}%  Was  that  proper  treat- 
ment of  my  daughter  ?" 

"Really,  mamma,  I  never  missed  him." 
3     The  old  lady  gave  her  daughter  a  severe  and  suspicious  glance, 
I  but  did  not  answer  the  remark.     She  proceeded  thus : 
■^      "  Whether  you  missed  him  or  not,  does  not  alter  the  fact  with 
I  regard  to  his  conduct  on  that  occasion.     It  was  highly  improper, 
and  very  disrespectful.     But  his  disrespect  did  not  end  here.     On 
the  night  of  the  party,  he  did  not  dance  with  you  once." 

"In  that,  if  there  be  any  thing  to  blame,  I  am  the  offender. 
I  He  applied  to  me  twice  or  three  times  for  the  privilege  of  dancing 
with  me,  and  each  time  I  was  engaged." 

"  Yes,  but  could  he  hot  have  engaged  you  for  the  dance  after- 
wards 1"     - 

"  I  am  not  sure  but  lie  sougbt  to  do  so.  It  is  certain^  that,  through- 
out the  evening,  I  was  engaged,  most  usually,  one  or  more  dances 
ahead." 

"  If  there  had  been  a  will  for  it,  Be^itrioe,  there  had  been  a  way." 


: 


182  TttK   O0U)EK   CttWBTkAS.  "** 


"  That  is,  if  both  our  willa  agreed.  There,  I  conceive,  the  diffi- 
culty to  have  lain.  I  confess,  I  see  nothing  in  Mr.  Bulmer's  con- 
duct, on  that  occasion,  which  could  be  construed  into  slight  or  dis- 
respect." 

"  You  do  not  want  to  see,  Beatrice."  ,    ' 

**  You  are  right,  maroma.  I  am  not  anxious,  at  any  time,  to  pick    ( 
out  and  seek  for  the  flaws  and  infirmities  in  my  neighbour."  ? 

"  That  may  be  a  very  pious  principle  of  conduct,  my  daughter, 
which,  in  every  day  matters,  I  cannot  disapprove  of;  but  there  are 
cases  where  a  proper  pride  re^juires  the  exercise  of  proper  resent- 
ment.    The  conduct  of  Major  Buhner  and  his  son,  has  not  satisfied    j| 
me  since  the  night  of  the  ball.     They  have  neither  of  them  dark-    f 
ened  these  doors  since." 

"  Why,  mother,  how -could  they  ?     You  surely  could  not  expect    l 
them,  sulTorinj^,  its  they  did,  from  such  an  accident  that  night. 
Mr.  Edward  15uhner  luw  been  laid  up  with  a  broken  arm,  and  the 
old  Major  wtw  covered  with  bruiso.n." 

"  But  he  could  find  his  limbs  and  body  sound  enough  to  visit 
Mrs.  Giriirdin." 

"Surely,  and  he  was  bound  to  do  so;  the  friendly  care,  the 
chariUiblc  kiiuhioss,  the  magnanimity  of  the  old  lady,  that  night, 
in  jjfiving  her  UHHiHtaiKc,  mo  promptly,  and  with  ho  much  real  bene- 
volence and  kindness  to  the  suti'erers,  called  for  the  earliest  and 
most  grateful  acknowledgment.  As  a  gentleman,  merely,  if  not 
as  a  Christian  and  human  being,  Major  Buhner  ould  do  no  less 
than  pay  her  a  visit,  of  thanks  and  gratitude,  as  sx>n  as  ho  was 
able." 

"  Yes,  and  Minn  Bulmer  could  go  too.  Both  could  pay  their 
respects  in  that  quarter,  and  neither  in  ours." 

"  Ah !  mamma !  so  you  find  cause  of  complaint  in  poor  Misi 
Janet,  too,  one  of  the  best  of  human  creatures." 

"  Y«R,  indeed  ;  if  tliey  could  viMit  ono  houHo,  they  might  well 
vinit  unothor;  and  thoro  wore  roiwoUH  why  tlu-y  should  liavo  been 
here,  if  only  to  explain." 


X    FLARtt    \iP   BET^EEIf    lAOTflER    AND    DAUGHTER.  138 


1 


"  Explain  1" 

"  Yes,  explain  I  You  can't,  at  present,  understand ;  but  I  mean 
it  when  I  say  explain  1  There's  another  thinjr,  Beatrice.  Mrs. 
Girardin  and  Paula  Bonileau  have  both  been  invited  to  the  Christ^ 
ma?  party  at  Major  Bulmer's.  I  have  it  from  Sally,  the  cook.  Her 
husband,  Ben,  belonging  to  Paula,  told  Sally  of  the  invitation,  and 
of  the  very  day  when  it  was  given." 

"  "What  more  natural.  The  Major  and  Miss  Bulmer  could  not 
«*urely  have  omitted  them." 

"  What!  after  the  long  quarrel  between  the  families?" 
"  For  that  very  reason,  mother.  A  quarrel  is  not  to  be  kept  up 
for  ever  in  a  Christian  country ;  and  what  better  occasion  for  re- 
conciliation than  when  one  of  the  parties  assists  the  other  in  a  case 
of  extremity  ;  and  what  better  season  than  this,  when  God  himself 
despatches  his  only  Son  on  a  mission  of  Love,  Forgiveness,  and 
final  reconciliation  between  himself  and  his  offending  people! 
Really,  mamma,  if  you  were  to  say  to  others  what  you  have  said 
to  me,  people  would  begin  to  suspect  you  of  Paganism." 

"  Better  call  me  a  Pagan,  at  once,  Miss  Mazyck !"  growled 
mamma,  gathering  herself  up  in  the  attitude  of  one  about  to  spring. 
"  But,  it  is  not  that  Mrs.  Girardin  and  her  grand-daughter  have 
been  invited,  that  I  complain.  But  when  I  know  that  the  invita- 
tion was  sent  to  tkcm^  a  whole  day  and  night  before  any  was  sent 

to  us,  that,  Miss  Mazyck " 

"  That,  mamma,  is  one  of  those  offences  that  cannot  but  be  com- 
mitted, and  which  there  is  no  helping.     It  is  done  every  day.     All 
cannot  be  served  at  the  same  moment.     While  one's  soup  is 
scalding  him,  another,  at  the  extremity  of  the  table,  finds  his  a 
httle  cooler  than  soup  ought  to  be.     Somebody  must  always  be  last," 
"  But  I  am  not  pleased  to  be  that  somebody,  Miss  Mazyck." 
"  And,  in  this  case,  mamma,  I  am  very  sure  you  are  not.     I 
would  wager  something  that  if  Mrs%  Girardin  received  the  first, 
you  had  the  second  invitation*" 
12 


'^• 


184  THS   GOLDBH    0BRI8TUA8. 


**  Perhaps ;  but  that  does  not  altogether  satisfy  me,  considering 
the  terms  on  wiiich  Major  Bulmer  and  myself  stood  together." 

"Ah!  those  terms,  mamma,"  said  Beatrice  archly  and  with  a 
smile.  The  mother  did  not  attend  to  the  remark,  but  proceeded 
as  if  she  had  not  heard  it : 

"  But,  I  see  the  whole  secret.  The  fact  is,  that  Mrs.  Oirardin 
has  a  good  deal  of  foresight  and  a  grand-daughter,  and  Major  Bul- 
mer has  a  handsome  fortune  and  a  son  ;  and  charity  by  the  way- 
side, may  bring  its  benefits  into  the  parlour ;  and  they  do  say  that 
Mi8«  Paula  is  not  insonsiblc  to  the  wealth  and  person  of  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Buhner,  and  so " 

"  Mother,  mother  l"  cried  Beutrlco  rei>roaehfully  ;  "  do  not  sufler 
yourself  to  speak  such  things.  Mrs.  Girardin,  I  am  sure,  would 
have  done  for  the  blind  Wggar,  by  the  highway,  all  that  she  did 
for  Miijor  Buhner " 

"Wluitl  with  hor  j^rido?" 

"Hit  prido  Ih  ridituloui*  iiiuugli,  I  grunt  you,  but  i^o  fiir  m  I 
have  ever  seen,  it  has  never  been  indulged  at  the  expense  of  her 
humanity.  I  am  sure,  at  least,  that  her  pride  would  have  been 
enough  to  keep  her  from  any  calculations  in  respect  to  the  Buhner 
family,  its  son  and  wealth.  She  Is  certiiinly  too  proud  for  any 
scheming  to  obUiiu  any  thing  from  that  or  any  otlu?r  family.  As 
for  Paula  Bonneau,  I  know  no  woman  who  better  deserves  the  best 
favour  of  fortune  in  a  husband ;  but  she  is  to  bo  sought,  mother, 
and  she  will  not  hei-self  bo  found  on  the  search  for  a  lover.  Let 
me  so  far  correct  your  opinion  as  to  tell  you  what  the  world  reports 
in  respect  to  Paula  B'»nnouu.  It  nuyi*  that  luUvard  l^ulinor  htw 
long  been  her  devoted,  if  not  her  accepted  lover,  and  that  she  is  truly 
attached  to  him,  in  spite  of  the  hostility  of  her  grandmother,  so  tliat 
most  of  your  suspicions  are  wrong,  if  those  of  the  world  bo  right." 

"  It  is  impossible,  Bcjitrice, — it  is  impossible  1"  said  the  mother, 
ptishing  away  the  »tool  l>etn'ath  hor  foot,  and  rising  with  an  air 
of  outraged  dignity.  "The  terms  Ixjtween  Major  Bulmer  and  my- 
self  " 


A    FLARE    UP    BETWEEN    MOTHER    AND    DAUGHTER.  135 


"Ah  !  those  terms  again,  mother.  Pray,  what  is  the  mystorioua 
nature  of  tliis  affair  between  you  and  Major  Bulmer?  Really,  un- 
less you  t<^ll  me  plainly  the  stat<^  Of  the  case,  I  shall  have  to  fall 
back  upon  my  old  suspicions.  My  powers  of  divination  yield  me 
no  other  conjectures." 

The  mother  quickened  her  movements  across  the  room,  then 
wheeling  about,  confronted  the  daughter  with  a  somewhat  imperi- 
ous manner,  as  she  said, — 

"  Well,  if  3-ou  must  know, — and,  under  present  appearances,  I 
see  no  reason  to  maintain  a  useless  secrecy, — you  must  know  that 
Major  Bulmer  has  proposed  for  you,  and  that  I  consented " 

"  ^fajor  Bulmer,  for  me, — why,  mamma,  he  is  old  enough  for 
my  grandfather  1"  cried  the  girl  in  unaffected  astonishment. 

"  Pshaw,  Beatrice,  you  surely  know  what  I  mean.  He  pro- 
posed far  you  on  bclialf  of  his  son." 

"  And  you  consented  V 

"  Yes, — I  consented.     I  thought  the  match  a  very  eligible  one." 

"  But  how  could  you  consent,  mother,  to  any  thing  of  the  sort  ? 
Did  you  mean  that  I  was  to  have  no  voice  in  the  ir  after  ?" 

"  No,  by  no  means ;  but  I  took  it  for  granted,  iny  daughter,  that 
you  would  see  the  thing  in  its  proper  hght, — see  the  advantages  of 
such  a  match — and  I  consented  that  the  Major  should  open  the 
matter  to  his  son " 

"  Heavens !  mother  !  what  have  you  done  !"  exclaimed  Beatrice, 
the  rich  red  suffusing  cheeks  and  neck,  while  a  singular  brightness 
flashed  freely  out  from  her  dilating  eyes.  It  was  her  turn  to  rise 
and  pace  the  apartment  "  What  have  you  done !  How  have 
you  shamed  me !  So,  Edward  Bulmer  is  to  be  persuaded,  under 
an  arrangement  with  my  own  mother,  to  behold  in  me  the  proper 
handmaid  u{)on  whom  it  is  only  necessary  that  he  should  bestow 
his  smiles,  in  order  to  obtain  submission.  I  am  to  be  made  happy 
by  the  bounty  of  his  love.  Oh  1  mother  1  mother  1  how  could  you 
do  this  thing  ?" 

"But,  my  dear,  you  see  it  in  a  very  peculiar  and  improper  hght.  I — " 


186  '^  THB    OOLDSN    OHBIBTIIAS.  .  -" 


**1  see  it  in  the  only  light  It  appears  by  your  own  showing, — 
and,  indeed,  I  know  the  fact, — that  Mr.  Bulraer  has  had  no  part  in 
this  beautiful  arrangement.  He  must  be  argued  into  it ;  and  his 
father  must  provide  him  'svith  the  proper  spectacles — his  or  your*8, 
mother, — looking  through  which,  he  is  to  discover  what  he  never 
of  himself  oould  see,  that  I  am  the  proper  young  woman  whom  he 
should  espouse.  You  have  doue  wTong,  mother, — you  have  been 
guilty  of  a  great  cruelty.     You  have  shamed  me  in  my  own  eyes." 

**  How!— how!" 

"  Who  will  suppose, — Major  Bulmcr  or  his  son,  think  you  ? — that 
you  would  venture  to  pledge  the  aflections  of  your  daughter,  to 
one  whoso  affections  have  yet  to  be  persuaded." 

"  Oh  !  no !  by  no  means.     I  told  the  Major  that  you  knew  noth- 

ing— r" 

"  Of  course !  and  had  I  known  every  thing,  it  still  would  have 
been  an  amiable  maternal  error — quite  venial  and  rather  pretty, 
perhaps — to  have  made  exactly  the  same  assurance.  The  Major 
believes  just  as  much  of  it  as  he  pleases, — the  son  as  little ; — and 
I — and  I — I  am  to  appear  as  the  humble  N-irgin,  dutiful  at  the 
threshold,  as  another  Ruth,  entreating  to  be  taken  into  the  house- 
hold of  the  wealthy  Boaz.  Oh !  what  have  you  done,  mother ! 
Wliat  have  you  done  |" 

And  a  passion  of  teai^  followed  the  drawing  of  the  humiliating 
picture.  The  mother  was  astounded,  and  began  to  fear  that,  in  her 
previous  consideration  of  the  subject,  she  had  excluded  from  view 
some  of  the  proper  lights  for  judging  it.  She  began  to  falter,  and 
to  make  assurances.  But  the  daughter  had  risen  in  strength  and 
dignity,  just  in  degree  as  the  mother  had  declined.  Her  tears  had 
oe^ised  to  flow,  but  her  soul  was  up  in  arms,  and  the  fires  now 
flowed  from  the  eyes  that  lately  wept.  Her  form,  always  lofty  and 
noble,  now  rose  into  a  sort  of  queenly  majesty,  that  filled  the  old 
lady  with  admiration. 

"  As  for  Edward  Buhner,"  said  Beatrice,  "  he  is  not  for  me,  nor 
T  for  him.     I  have  long  known  that  he  loved  Paula  Bonneau ; 


CHRISTMAS   EVE.  137  .^ 


I; 


and  I  have  good  reason  to  believe  that  his  love  is  requited.  But 
even  had  he  been  willing,  mother,  his  father  willing,  and  you  wil- 
ling, /  should  not  have  willed  the  connexion." 

"But,  Beatrice,  my  daughter,"  interposed  the  mother,  now 
thoroughly  alarmed,  "  you  do  not  tell  me  you  will  marry  against 
my  consent." 

*'  No  mother ;  but  I  mean  to  tell  you  that  1  will  never  marry 
until  I  have  my  own  consent !" 

A  carriage  at  this  moment  rolled  into  the  court  below.  The 
mother  looked  through  the  blinds. 

"  It  is  Major  13ulmer's,  and  Miss  Janet  is  getting  out." 

"  One  word  then,  mother, — we  both  must  accept  this  invitation, 
and  it  must  be  frankly  and  unreservedly — unless  wo  wish  the  wholo 
parish  to  suspect  that,  in  the  union  of  the  houses  of  Buhner  and 
Bonneau,  Beatrice  Mazyck  has  sufiered  a  mortification, — Beatrice 
Mazyck  has  been  rejected  by  him  to  whom  her  mother  has  oflfered 
her  in  sacrifice." 

"  Oh !  my  child !     How  can  you  say  so  ?" 

The  dialogue  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  ancient 
but  amiable  maiden,  whom  Beatrice  received  \vith  an  aflfcctionato 
kiss,  and  her  mother  with  a  laborious  smile.  It  need  not  scarcely 
be  said,  that  Beatrice  had  her  own  way,  and  that  the  invitation 
was  accepted. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

OHRISTMAS   EVE. 


Time,  meanwhile,  had  been  hobbling  forward,  after  the  usual 

fashion,  and  with  his  wonted  rapidity.     He  brings  us  at  length  to 

Christmas  eve.     But  the  old  Egyptian  don't  find  us  unprepared. 

He  does  not  catch  us  napping,  though  he  may  at  the  *  nappy! 

12* 


♦ 


188   -  THE   OOU>Sir  CHRISTMAS. 

We  have  taken  him  by  the  forelock.  We  have  been  getting  steam 
upon  him  for  a  goodly  month  or  more.  Major  Bulmer  has  failed 
in  none  of  his  supplies ;  and  aunt  Janet  has  been  doing  the  cruity^ 
in  spite  of  her  proverbial  sweetness  of  temper, — and  because  of 
it — in  the  pantry  and  bake-house,  for  a  week  of  eleven  days. 
What  a  wilderness  of  miuce-pies  have  issued  from  her  framing 
hands ;  what  a  forest  of  patties  and  petties,  cocoanut  and  cran- 
berry ; — what  deserts  of  island  and  trifle ;  what  seas  of  jelly ;  what 
mountains  of  blano  mange.  Eggs  have  grown  miraculously  scarce. 
There  is  a  hubbub  now  going  on  between  the  fair  spinster  and  her 
lordly  brother. 

"  But,  Janet,  by  Jove,  this  will  never  do  !  .  You  mu8tn*t  stint  us 
in  Egg-nog.  Better  give  up  a  bushel  of  your  pudding  stutf^  than 
that  we  should  have  less  than  several  bushels  of  eggs." 

"  But,  brother,  there  will  still  be  enough.  You  know  the  ladies 
seldom  take  egg-nog,  now  a  days." 

"  I  know  no  such  thing,  and  don't  beheve  it.  We  must  provide 
enough,  at  all  events.  Send  out  Tom  and  Jerry  ;  let  them  scour 
the  countiy  and  pick  up  all  they  can.  These  women  with  their 
parties !" 

"  Was  ever  such  a  man  as  brother !"  cried  Miss  Janet  to  me, 
with  bare  arms,  uplift,  and  well  sprinkled  with  flour.  She  had 
been  kneading  that  her  pubhc  should  not  need,  which  is  certainly 
patriotism,  if  not  Christian  charity.  But  I  have  no  time  to  listen 
to  her,  or  to  speculate  upon  her  virtues.  The  Major  summoned 
me  forth  to  look  at  the  hogs.  Thirty  were  slaughtered  last  night. 
There  they  hang,  the  long-bodied,  white  porkers,  thoroughly  clean- 
ed, like  so  many  convicts,  decently  dressed  for  the  first  time  in 
their  lives,  when  about  to  pay  the  j>enalty  of  their  offences.  "  Not 
a  rogue  among  them,"  quoth  the  ^Injor,  "  that  weighs  less  than 
250  nett."  Yesterday,  there  was  a  boef  shot.  We  must  go  and 
look  at  him,  see  him  quartered,  and  estimate  his  weight  and  im- 
portance also.  Huge  tubs  and  wooden  platters  of  sausage  meat 
entreat  our  attention,  and  I  assist  Miss  Janet  in  measuring  out 


«♦■ 


CnniBTMAS   EVE.  139 


pepper,  black  and  red,  and  sage  and  thyme,  and  salt  and  saltpetre, 
that  the  sausage  meat  may  be  as  grateful  to  the  taste  as  it  is  fully 
great  to  the  eye.  The  Major  and  his  sister  are  the  busiest  people 
in  the  world.  Ned  Bulmer  is  abroad  and  busy  also,  as  much  so 
as  he  can  be,  his  arm  in  a  sling.  He  is  anxious  about  certain  oys- 
ters ordered  from  the  city,  and  is  pacified  by  the  response  from  the 
gentlemanly  body  servant, — "  The  oystei-a  have  arrive,  Mr.  Ed- 
ward, in  good  order."  Boxes  are  to  he  unpacked,  in  which  I  help. 
Miss  Janet  is  feverish  about  the  fate  of  several  baiTcls  of  crockery. 
I  assist  in  relieving  her.  Tlie  Major  needs  my  help  in  opening 
and  unfolding  certain  cases  of  fire-works,  and  in  preparing  sockets 
for  rockets,  and  reels  for  wheels,  posts,  and  platforms,  &c.,  for  a 
display  by  night.  Our  Baron,  like  other  Princes,  is  fond  of,  and 
famous  for,  his  ])yrotechny.  He  has  invented  a  new  torpedo,  by 
the  way,  for  blowing  up  the  fleet  of  the  Federal  Government,  when- 
ever they  shall  attempt  to  bombard  the  city ;  and  one  of  the  pro- 
blems which  now  occupies  his  mind,  is  the  preparation  of  a  balloon 
for  dropping  hollow  shot  into  the  forts  of  the  harbour.  The  Major 
is  a  fierce  secessionist.  At  one  time,  he  rather  inclined  to  co-ope- 
ration ;  and  I  fancy  lie  voted  the  co-operation  ticket  for  the  South- 
em  Congress ;  but,  since  the  resolutions  of  the  Committee  at  Co- 
lumbia, he  denounces  them  as  mere  simulacra, — using  the  verna- 
cular for  the  learned  word, — plainly  saying,  in  brief,  burly  phrase, 
"  Humbugs  !" — and  has  very  devoutly  sent  them  all  to  the  devil. 

From  Cheve?  and  Clicsnut,  Burt,  Barnwell  nnd  Orr, 
To  Preston  and  Presslcy,  and  tweniy-five  more. 
With  Petigru  thrown  in  to  make  up  the  score  ! 

But  we  must  eschew  politics,  in  a  Christmas  L^'gend,  lest  we 
take  away  some  poor  devil's  appetite  for  dinner.  Our  cue  is  to  be 
genial  and  gentle,  tender  and  tolerant,  not  strategetical  and  tragical. 

The  fire-works  arranged  and  disposed  of,  we  turned  in  upon  a 
Christmas  Tree,  which  was  to  be  elevated  within  the  great  hall. 
This  was  a  beautiful  cedar,  carefully  selected,  and  brought  in  from 
the  woods,  the  rootB  well  fitted  into  the  half  of  a  huge  barrel, 


i-'< 


v"^ 


•  ^-x- 


^«i 


140      ^  THE   GOLDEN   CHRISTMAS. 


rammed  with  moss,  the  base  being  so  draped  with  green  cloth  aa 
to  conceal  the  rudeness  of  the  fixture.  This,  planted  and  adjusted 
in  its  place,  we  enclosed  tlie  piazza,  front  and  rear,  with  canvas, 
and  hung  the  interior  in  both  regions  with  little  glass  lamps  of 
different  colours.  Half  of  the  day,  Christmas  eve,  was  employed 
in  these  and  a  score  of  other  performances.  Nothing  that  we 
could  think  of  was  omitted.  Then,  there  were  boxes  of  toys  for 
the  children  to  be  unpacked,  and  trunks  of  pretty  presents  to  be 
examined,  and  the  names  written  on  them  of  the  persons  for  whom 
they  wore  designed.  They  were,  that  night,  after  the  guests  had 
all  retired,  to  be  suspended  to  the  branches  of  the  Christmas  Tree, 
which  was,  in  the  meanwhile,  to  be  kept  from  sight  by  the  drop- 
ping of  a,  curtain  across  the  hall !  Ned  Bulmer  had  his  gifts  pre- 
pared, as  well  as  his  fiither  and  aunt.  I,  too,  had  bought  my  petty 
contributions,  calculating  on  the  persons  I  should  meet. 

Before  noon,  the  company  began  to  pour  in.     Several  came  to 
dinner  that  day.     Afternoon  brought  sundry  more,  who  wore  to 
spend  the  night,  and  perhaps  several  nights.     The  mansion  house 
was  entirely  surrendered  to  the  ladies  and  mamed  j>eople ; — the 
young  men  were  entirely  dispossessed  and  driven  to  sheds  and  out- 
houses, in  which,  fortunately,  *  the  Barony  *  was  not  deticient  Ned 
and  myself  lodged  with  the  ovei-seer,  and  had  a  snug  apartment 
to  ourselves.     At  dinner,  it  was  already  necessary  to  spread  two 
tables.     Every  body  was  becomingly  amiable.     Care  was  kicked 
under  the  table,  and  lay  crouching  there,  silent  and  trembling, 
like  a  beaten  hound,  not  daring  to  crunch  even  his  own  bones  aloud. 
The  ladies  smiled  graciously  to  our  sentiments,  and  we  had  funny 
songs  and  stories  when  they  had  gone.     After  dinner,  some  of  the 
guests  rode  or  rambled  for  an  hour,  others  retired  to  the  library, — 
chess  and  backgammon ;  othei*s  to  the  cliambers ; — and  the  work  of 
preparation  still  went  on.     The  holly   and  the  cedar,  twined  to- 
gether with  bunches  of  the  '  Druid  Mistleto,'  wreathed  the  doors 
and  windows,  the  fire-place,  the  pictures.     lied  and  blue  berries 
glimmered  prettily  among  the  green  leaves.    A*-  night,  we  had 


CHRISTMAS    EVE.  141 


the  tea  served  sooner  than  usual,  for  the  Major  was  impatient  for 
the  fire-works.  The  discharge  of  a  cannon  was  the  signal  for 
crowding  to  the  front  piazza.  There,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  ex- 
tend, ranging  along  the  green  avenue,  at  equal  distances,  were 
piles  of  flaming  lightwood,  showing  the  way  to  the  dwelling. 
They  failed  to  show  the  spectators  where  the  ^fajor  was  preparing 
for  his  rockets.  Suddenly,  these  shot  up  amid  the  darkness  ;  a 
flight  of  a  dozen,  A\nth  the  rush  of  the  scrapliim,  flying,  as  it  were, 
from  the  glooms  and  sorrows  of  the  earth.  Then  came  wheels, 
lioman  candles,  frogs,  serpents,  and  transparencies — quite  a  dis- 
play, and  doing  great  credit  to  the  Major,  besides  singing  his  cheek 
and  hair,  and  drawing  an  ounce  of  blood  from  his  left  nostril — 
the  result  of  a  premature  and  most  indiscreet  explosion  of  a  tur- 
'<  billon,  or  something  of  the  sort.  But  this  small  annoyance  was 
rather  agreeable  than  otherwise,  as  tending  somewhat  to  dignify 
the  exploit. 
I  The  display  over,  and  the  spectators  somewhat  cooled  by  stand- 

i        ing  in  the  open  air,  we  returned  to  the  rooms  and  the  violin  began 
I        to  infuse  it.s  own  spirit  into  the  heels  of  the  comjtany.     Then  fol- 
l        lowed  the   dances  ;  quadrilles,  cotillon,  countiy  dances,  Virginny 
t        reek,  and  regular  shake-downs.     We  occupied  two  saloons  at  this 
I        business   till   12  o'clock,  when  the  boys  and  girls,  obeying  the 
I       signal  of  Miss  Janet,  descended  to  the  rooms  assigned  to  oflices 
\       purely  domestic.     Huge  bowls  might  here  be  seen  displayed,  and 
I       mammoth  dishes.     A  great  basket  of  eggs  was  lifted  in  sight,  and 
I       upon  a  table.     Knives  and  forks,  sticks  and  goose  feathers,  were 
I       put  in  requisition.     Eggs  were  poised  aloft  and  adroitly  cut  in 
I       twain ;  the  yolk  falling  into  the  bowl,  the  white  into  the  dish — 
t      seperating  each,  as  it  were,  with  a  becoming  sense  of  what  was 
I      expected  of  it.     Then  the  clatter  that  followed, — the  rubbing  and 
|-      the  rounding, — the  twitching  and  the  clashing !     How  fair  arms 
flashed,  even  to  the  elbow,  and  strong  arms  wearied,  even  to  the 
shoulder  blade,  to  the  mer^raent  and  mockery  of  the  damsels. 
.      With  some,  the  unskilful,  it  wouldrCt  come  ; — in  Western  par- 


r'-'^ 


142  THE    GOLDEN    0HRI6TMAB. 


lance,  *  (hey  couldnU  come  it  */ — and  the  dish  bad  to  be  transferred 
to  more  scientific  bands.  At  length,  the  huge  tray  being  upUfted, 
turned  upside  down,  and  the  white  mass  chnging  still  sohdly  to  the 
China,  it  was  pronounced  the  proper  moment  for  reuniting  the 
parties  so  recently  seperated.  Then  rose  the  golden  liquid,  a 
^rosted  soa  of  strength  and  sweetness  and  serenity,  that  never 
whispered  a  syllable  of  the  subtlety  that  lurked,  hidden  in  the 
compound,  born  of  the  glowing  embraces  of  lordly  Jamaica  and 
gallant  Cognac.  Lo  !  now  the  strong-armed  youth,  as  tliey  bear 
the  glorious  beverage  on  silver  salvei*s  to  the  favourite  ladies.  They 
quaff,  they  sip,  they  smile,  they  laugh ;  the  bnghtness  gathers  in 
their  eyes ;  they  sparkle ;  the  orbs  dance  hke  young  stai*s  on  a 
frosty  night,  as  if  to  warm  themselves  ; — when  suddenly,  Miss 
Janet  rises,  stands  for  a  moment  silent,  looks  significantly  around 
her,  and  is  understood  !  A  gay  buzz  follows ;  and,  with  smiles 
and  bows,  and  meiTy  laughter,  and  pleasant  promises,  the  gay 
group  disappears,  leaving  the  tougher  gender  to  finish  the  discus- 
sion of  that  bright,  potent  beverage,  in  which  the  innocent  egg  is 
made  to  apologize  fur  a  more  fiery  spirit  than  ever  entered  into  the 
imagination  of  pullet  to  conceive  !  Merry  were  the  clamours  that 
followed  ; — gay  songs  were  sung ; — some  of  the  youngsters,  just 
from  college,  took  the  floor  in  a  stig  dance ; — while  half  a  dozen 
more  sallied  forth  at  one  o'clock,  called  up  the  dogs,  mounted  their 
steeds,  and  dashed  through  the  woods  on  a  fox  hunt.  But  the  fox 
they  hunted  that  night  wiis  one  of  that  sort  which  Sampson '  let 
loose  among  the  Philistines — a  burning  brand  under  his  brush — 
not  suffering  him  to  know  where  he  ran  1 


CHRISTMAS — 'HOW    GOLDEN*  HB 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

CHRISTMAS — HOW  GOLDEN". 


Christmas  Dawn  !  The  day  opened  with  bursting  of  bomb<i 
from  the  laboratory  of  Major  Bulmer.  lie  was  up  and  at  work, 
bright  and  early,  having  summoned  me  to  his  assistance.  In  fact 
neither  of  us  had  done  much  sleeping  that  night.  Wo  had  em- 
ployed more  than  an  hour  of  the  interval,  after  the  termination  of 
the  dance,  in  arranging  the  gifts  among  the  branches  of  the  cedar, 
and  in  other  matters.  Then  we  had  adjourned  to  an  out-house, 
where  the  Major  kept  his  fire^works,  and  had  gotten  the  explosive 
pieces  in  readiness.  They  did  famous  execution  when  discharged, 
routing  every  body  out  of  his  sleep,  though  it  should  be  as  sound 
as  that  of  the  Famous  Seven  I  The  children  were  all  alive  in  an 
instant.  /- 

"  Had  old  Father  Chrystmasse  really  come." 

There  was  a  rush  to  the  chimney  places  in  every  qiiarter,  where, 
the  night  before,  the  stockings  and  satchels  had  been  suspended 
from  the  cedar  branches.  Dear  aunt  Janet  had  taken  good  care 
that  the  "  Old  Father"  should  make  his  appearance  ;  and  there  was 
a  general  shout,  as  each  took  down  his  well-stuffed  stocking.  Ah  1 
how  easy  to  make  children  happy — how  unexacting  the  little 
urchins — how  moderate  in  their  desires — how  innocent  their  expec- 
tations— how  pure,  if  fervent,  their  little  hopes  !  Treat  them  lov- 
ingly— give  them  gifts  such  as  love  may  wisely  give — and  you  im- 
press the  plastic  and  hospitable  nature  "vvith  a  true  moral  for  the 
seventy  years  of  vicissitude  that  may  follow  I  Ah !  shouts  of 
blessed  children  1  as  if  there  lay  a  sweet  bird  in  the  soul,  all  wing 
and  voice,  soaring  together  in  sweetness,  earth  not  yet  having 
stained  the  one,  or  made  discord  in  the  accents  of  the  other  1  The 
dear  little  creatures  I  on  what  sly  steps  they  stole  to  the  several 
chambers,  lingering  at  the  door,  waiting  to  *  catch '  the  parties  a* 


144  TtiX   OOLDSN   CHRISTMAS. 


they  issued  forth.  How  they  crouched  at  the  entranbea  of  hall 
&nd  library;  in  the  porches,  behind  the  doors,  beneath  the  stairs, 
under  the  eaves — wherever  their  little  bodies  could  find  snug  har- 
bourage— till  they  could  spring  out  ujwn  the  victim.  Three  of  them^ 
at  the  same  moment,  had  aunt  Janet  about  the  neck.  They  pulled 
off  her  curls, — they  disordered  her  lace, — they  deranged  her 
handkerchief, — almost  entirely  demolished  her  toilet, — and  pulled 
her  do^vn  upon  the  carpet,  with  their  wild-colt  displays  of  affeo* 
tion ;  and  the  dear  old  maid  took  it  all  so  sweetly,  and  smiled 
through  it  all,  and  only  begged  jvhere  she  might  have  scolded,  and 
promised  good  things  to  escape,  when  she  might  have  threatened 
birch  and  brimstone !  And  the  fierce  old  Baron,  the  Major  him- 
self, even  he,  Turk  as  he  is  in  some  respects,  he,  too,  was  as 
meek  under  the  infliction  as  if  he  shared  fully  the  spirit  of  his  sis- 
ter. The  boys  and  girls,  half  a  dozen  in  number,  seized  upon  him 
OS  he  entered  the  hall  from  the  court.  The  gii'ls  tugged  at  arms 
and  skirts,  the  boys  had  him  by  the  neck,  arms  and  shoulders,  at 
the  same  moment. 

"  Merry  Christmas,  Major  "; — "  Merry  Christmas,  uncle  f — 
"  Merry  Christmas,  grandpa."  Merry  Christmas  saluted  him,  un- 
der all  sorts  of  affectionate  titles,  from  their  wild,  gay,  innocent  little 
voices.  And  how  graciously  the  old  SulUin  submitted  to  be  tugged  at 
and  hugged.  How  he  laughed  and  tossed  them  up,  and  suffered  them 
to  sway  him  to  a^id  fro,  until  they  all  came  down  upon  the  carpet 
in  a  heap  together !  There  was  no  growling,  or  grunting,  or  com-, 
plaining ;  no  rebukes  and  wry  faces ;  but,  giving  himself  up  to  the 
humour  of  the  children,  he  bccam'e  for  the  moment  a  child  him- 
self. And  measurably  he  was.  Ho  had  kept  his  heart  young, 
and  could  thus  still  identify  liimself  with  the  child  humours  of  the 
httle  throng  about  him.  He  knew  what  he  had  to  exjMJct,  and  had 
prepared  for  them.  His  pockets  were  a  sort  of  fairy  wallet,  such 
as  we  read  of  in  the  Oriental  and  German  fables,  which  is  always 
giving  forth,  yet  always  full.  Balls,  knives,  thimbles,  dolls  in 
boxes,  pretty  books  with  gold  edges  and  gay  pictures,  very  soon 


CitRtSTIrfAS HOW    OOLDEiK.  145 


Unfolded  themselvea  from  his  several  pockets,  and  each  of  the  happy- 
children  took  -vshat  he  pleased.  They  went  off  laden  with  trea- 
sures, and  making  the  house  ring  with  cries  of  exultation. 

At  sunrise  that  morning,  the  egg-noggin  passed  from  chaml>er 
to  chamber.  Why  eggs  at  Christmas  as  well  as  Easter  ?  There 
is  a  significance  in  their  use,  at  these  periods,  which  we  leave  to  the 
thcelogical  antiquarian.  They  are  doubtless  typical.  Enough  that, 
in  the  Bulmer  Barony,  the  old  custom  was  religiously  kept  up. 
Everj'  guest  was  required  to  ta'^te,  at  all  events.  The  ladies  mostly, 
the  dear,  delicate  young  things  iii  particular,  were  each  content 
with  a  wine-glass.  Some  of  the  matrons  could  relish  a  full  cup  or 
tumbler,  and  there  were  some  of  these  who  would  occasionally  find 
their  way  into  the  contents  of  a  second,  and — without  getting  ia 
their  cups  !  We  are  to  graduate  the  beverage,  be  it  remembered, 
according  to  the  capacity  o^  the  individual ;  and  he  alone  is  the 
intemperate — wo  may  add  the  fool  also — who  takes  a  power  into 
the  citadel  which  he  cannot  keep  in  due  subjection. 

The  bell  rings  for  brc^J^fast.  The  hour  is  late.  All  are  assem- 
bled. There  is  joy  in  all  eyes  ;  merriment  in  all  voices  ;  what  a 
singular  conventionalism,  established  by  habits  so  prolonged,  for  so 
many  hundred  years,  by  which,  whatever  the  secret  care,  it  is 
overmastered  on  this  occasion,  and  the  sufferer  asserts  his  freedom 
for  a  brief  day  in  the  progress  of  the  oppressive  time  I  Breakfast 
at  the  *  Barony ',  is,  of  course,  a  breakfast  for  a  Pnnce.  Take  that 
for  granted,  gentle  reader,  and  spare  us  the  necessity  to  describe. 
The  event  over,  wo  group  together  and  dispci*se.  Thejborses  are 
saddled  below.  The  young  gallant  lifts  his  fair  one  to  the  saddle. 
The  carriages  are  ready  ;  and  there  are  parties  preparing  for  a 
drive.  Some  of  the  young  men  have  gone  to  the  woods,  pistol 
and  rifle  shooting.  Others  are  in  the  library,  companioned  by  the 
other  sex,  at  chess  and  backgammon.  We  are  among  these,  Ned 
Bulmer  and  myself.  We  have  duties  at  home.  We  know  not 
what  moment  will  bring  to  the  door  our  respective  favourites.  And 


146  TttB   GOLDEN    OtlRISTkAfl. 


SO,  variously  engaged  and  employed,  all  more  or  les8*gratefully, 
the  hours  pass  until  meridian.     A  little  after,  the  rolling  of  wheels 
is  heard  below.     We  are  at  once  at  the  entrance.     Major  Bulmer 
C  is  already  there.     The  carriage  brings  Mrs.  Mazyck  and  her  fair 

*'  daughter.     The  old  lady  is  not  exactly  thawed,  but  the  ice  is  of  a 

thin  crust  only.  The  Major  tenders  her  his  arm  ;  mine  is  at  the 
service  of  Beatrice.  Scarcely  have  we  ascended  when  other  vehi- 
cles are  heard  below.  It  is  now  Ned's  turn,  and  while  the  Major 
is  bowing  and  Hupi>orting  Madame  Agnos-ThcroKa,  Nod  brings  in 
the  dear  little  witch,  Pnuliv,  hanging  on  his  sound  limb,  and  turn- 
ing an  inquiring  and  tender  glance  of  interest  upon  that  which 
pleads  for  pity  from  the  sling.  The  Major  and  his  sister  divide 
themselves  between  the  matrons  ;  while  Ned  and  myself  share  the 
damsfU  between  uh.  Wo  slip  out,  unolnorvod,  for  a  walk,  loaving 
the  ancient  quartette  in  full  chase  of  parish  antiquities,  recalling 
old  times  and  making  the  passing  as  pleasant  by  reflection  as  pos- 
sible. Shall  I  tell  you  how  we  strayed,  whither  we  went,  what 
we  said  together  ?  Not  a  word  of  it.  .If  you  have  heart,  you 
may  conceive  for  yourself;  if  fancy  only,  you  may  trust  to  conjec- 
ture. What  is  said  by  young  por.'ionH,  with  hoarts  in  full  agree- 
ment, will  seldom  bear  reporting.  It  is  so  singularly  the  faculty 
of  the  heart,  under  such  circumstance?,  to  endow  the  simplest 
j^i.  matters  with  a  rare  significance,  that  ordinary  reason  becomes  ut- 
terly unnecessary,  and  the  affectioas  lind  a  speech  and  a  philoso- 
*"  phy  of  far  more  valuo,  more  grateful  to  the  ear,  and  more  profound 
to  the  sense,  than  any  that  belongs  t«j  simple  intclli'ct.  Wo  wore 
gone  fully  two  hours  from  the  house,  yet,  so  well  had  the  Major 
and  aunt  Janet  done  their  parts,  we  had  not  been  missed  by 
mamma  and  grandmamma,  and  neither  frowns  nor  reproaches 
waited  our  return.  It  was  evi«lontly  ii\si  proving  itself  a  Ciolden 
Chrihtnias.  The  goldon  jK-riod  had  come  round  again  iw  no  long 
promised.  The  lion  and  the  lamb  were  about  to  lie  down  to- 
gether. That  is, — Major  Bulmer,  seated  in  the  centre  of  the  sofa, 
with  Madame  Agnes -Theresa  on  one  hand,  and  Mrs.  Mazyck  on 


CHRISTMAS HOW   GOLDEN.  147 


the  other,  had  them  both  in  hand  as  a  dextrous  driver  two  fiery 
and  intractable  steeds,  whom  he  has  subdued ;  and  the  free  smile 
playing  upon  all  three  countenances,  as  we  entered,  was  conclusive 
of  such  a  conjunction  of  the  planets,  as  held  forth  the  happiest 
auguries  for  the  future,  in  respect  to  the  "  currents  of  true  love  !" 

Company  continued  to  arrive.  The  groups  which  had  ridden 
forth  returned.  The  house  was  thronged.  The  respectable  body- 
servant  looked  in  at  the  library.  The  Major  rose,  went  to  the 
door,  looked  at  his  watch,  came  back,  said  a  few  words,  by  way  of 
apology,  to  the  ladies  with  whom  he  had  been  doing  the  amiable, 
and  tl^en  disap})eared.  The  dinner  hour  was  approaching.  It  was 
soon  signalled.  The  Major  returned.  His  arm  was  tendered  to 
Mrs.  Mazyck ;  Madame  Agnes-Theresa  was  served  with  that  of 
another  ancient  Major,  quite  as  conspicuous  in  the  parish  as  he  of 
Bulmer;  and  then,  each  to  his  mates,  we  followed  all  in  long  pro- 
cession. Need  I  say,  that,  while  Ned  Bulmer,  by  singular  good 
fortune,  was  enabled  to  escort  Paula,  by  the  merest  accident,  I 
happened  to  be  nigh  enough  at  the  moment  to  yield  my  arm  to  Bea- 
trice.   Really,  the  thing  was  thoroughly  providential  in  both  cases* 

Such  a  dinner !  The  parish,  famous  for  its  dinners,  had  never 
seen  one  like  it  It  is  beyond  description.  Two  enormous  tables,  oc- 
cupying the  whole  length  of  the  spacious  dining  room,  were  loaded 
with  every  possible  form  and  variety  of  edible.  But  the  turkey  was 
not  allowed,  as  is  usually  the  case  in  our  country,  to  usurp  the  place 
of  honour  on  this  occasion.  There  was  a  couple  of  these  birds 
to  each  table  ;  but  they  stood  not  before  the  master  of  the  feast 
At  our  entrance,  the  space  on  the  cloth  was  vacant  at  his  end  of 
the  table.  He  stood,  erect,  knife  in  hand,  evidently  in  expectation. 
He  had  one  of  his  famoas  old  English  cards  to  play.  One  of  the 
turkies  was  at  one  of  the  tables  where  I  was  required  to  preside, 
the  fair  Beatrice  on  my  right.  The  others  were  interspersed  along 
the  two  boards.  Presently,  we  heard  solemn  music  without  Then 
the  door  was  rc?ODened.  and  the  steward,  nankin  under  chin,  made 


148  THE   OOLDEK   OHRISXMAS. 


f  .*'■ ' 


"  My  friends,"  quoth  the  Major,  in  a  speech  that  wa»  evidently 
prepared,  and' which  we  abridge  to  our  dimensions,  "  I  am  about 
to  restore  a  custom  common  in  all  the  good  old  English  establish- 
ments, even  within  the  last  hundred  years.  The  turkey  has  been 
raised  to  quite  unmerited  honour  among  us.  I  am  willing  to  as- 
sign him  his  place  upon  our  table  ;  but  I  shall  depose  him  from 
#tho  first  place  hereafter.  That  projicrly  belongs  to  the  Boar*a 
IToi^d  I  11n«  lionr'n  ITund  wivm  th<*  futuoim  diHli  nt  rhriwtmn*,  in 
old  England  ;  not  the  turkey.  The  turkoy  is  m\  innovation.  lie 
is  purely  an  American  fowl,  and  was  utterly  unknown  in  Europe 
until  after  the  Spaniards  found  this  continent.  He  is  a  respecta- 
ble bird,  particularly  in  size  ;  but  in  flavour,  cannot  rank  with  the 
dtU'k,  f»r  ovon  a  wo]l-dro»»od  young  goono.  Thore  is  no  reason 
why  he  should  supersede  the  Boar's  Head.  I  am  willing  to  give 
him  the  first  place  on  New  Year's  day,  as  representing  a  new  era 
and  a  new  country  ;  but  on  Christmas,  as  a  good  Christian,  I  am 
bound  to  stick  to  the  text  of  the  Fathers.  Their  creed  I  give  you 
in  their  own  language,  as  it  was  chaunted  five  hundred  years  ago. 
The  steward  who  placed  the  Boar's  Head  on  the  table,  brought  it 
in  with  the  sound  of  music,  and  chaunted,  as  he  advanced,  the 
following  Christmas  carol,  which,  by  the  way,  I  have,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  my  young  friend,  Richard  Cooper  here,  somewhat  ven- 
tured Uy  modornize  to  ,corro»-pond  with  the  vernacular." 

The  Major  then  proceeded  to  repeat,  in  the  formal,  Honoroui 
manner  of  a  schoolljoy,  whoso  voice  is  in  the  transition  state,  a 
cross  between  squeak  and  croak,  the  following  ditty  : 

Caput  opri  deforo, 
RrddcnB  Inudes  Domino ! 
"Lo!  the  Bour'H  Head,  he  that  Bpoll'd 
Tho  (jocMlly  viriiM  wluTe  many  toil'd,— 
Merrily  masters,  be  assod'd, — 
1 1  pray  you  all  sing  merrily, 
Qui  estis  m  convivio. 
Tho  hoar's  liead,  you  must  underutand, 
Is  the  chief  service  in  tlib  land— 


>.* 


CHRISTMAS — HOW    GOLDEN.  149 


And  here  it  lie?  at  your  command, 

Clad  in  bay  and  rosemary  ; —        .  . 
Servile  cum  cantico. 

With  song  \ro  bring  the  wild  boar's  head, 
Ho  spoiled  our  vines — with  mustard  spread. 
The  beast  is  good  and  gentle  dead. 

Pray,  masters,  eat  him  heartily, — 

Reddens  laudes  Domino." 

But  the  Major  was  not  allowed  to  finish  his  recitation.  We  had 
prepared  a  surprise  for  the  strategist.  Ned  and  inyfielf,  liaving 
copies  of  the  carol,  had  secretly  adapted  it  to  appropriate  music, 
and,  suffering  the  Major  only  to  make  a  fair  entrance  upon  the  verse, 
we  broke  in  with  a  loud  chorus.  At  first,  ho  stopped  and  looked 
at  us  with  a  face  of  doubt.  Was  it  an  offence  to  be  reseYited  ? 
We  had  taken  the  words  out  of  his  mouth.  We  had  converted 
the  recitation  into  a  chant,  the  chant  into  a  song.  Ought  he  to 
be  angry  ?  A  moment  decided  the  question.  Certainly,  a  carol 
ought  to  be  sung.  We  had  only  carried  out  his  ptirposo  more  ef- 
fectually than  he  was  able  to  do  it  himself.  We  had  surprised  him, 
but  it  wa5  a  tribute  to  his  objects  and  tastes  that  we  had  prepared 
in  this  surprise.  The  cloud  disappeared ;  he  laughed  ;  ho  clapt 
his  hands ;  Ye  joined  with  stentorian  lungs  in  the  chorus,  and  other 
voices  chimed  in.     We  obtained  a  magnificent  triumph. 

Meanwhile,  the  Boar's  Head,  with  a  mammoth  lemon  in  his 
huge  jaws,  and  enveloped  in  bay  leaves  and  rosemary,  was  set 
down  in  state  before  us.  It  was  the  head  of  one  of  the  largest  of 
the  wild  boars  that  we  had  slain  in  our  hunt  It  was  well  dressed — 
it  was  delicious.  Our  old  English  fathers  knew  what  was  good  ; 
but  1  am  not  sure  that  any  of  the  ladies  partook  of  the  savage 
dish.  *'  Milk  for  babes,  meat  for  men  !"  muttered  the  Major,  in  a 
tone  between  scorn  and  pity.  Tlie  feast  procetlded,  the  Baron  ex- 
patiating occasionally  on  Boar  Heads  and  Boar  Hunts,  insisting 
that,  as  on  every  large  plantation  in  the  swamp  country,  wild  hogs 
X3* 


150  THE   GOLDEN   OHIUSTMAB. 


were  numerous,  the  proper  taste  required  that  we  should  always 
have  the  dish  for  Christmas.  I  shall  not  report  his  several  speeches 
on  this  and  incidental  topics.  The  champagne  made  its  own  fre-' 
quent  reports  about  this  time,  and  left  it  rather  difficult  to  follow 
any  orator.  The  Major  now  drank  wth  Madame  Agnes-Theresa ; 
then  with  the  widow  Mazyck,  and  almost  made  the  circuit  of  the 
table,  in  doing  gi-ace  with  the  matrons.  Tlie  younger  part  of  the 
company  were  not  slow  to  follow  the  example.  What  sweet  and 
significant  things  were  whispered  to  the  several  parties  beside  us— 
over  the  wiTie,  but  under  the  rose.  The  meats  disappeared, 
the  comfits  took  their  place,  and  disappeared  in  turn.  The  best  of 
pleasures  find  their  finale  at  last  Up  rose  the  ladies,  and,  with  a 
bumper,  well  drained  in  their  honour,  wo  followed  them  to  the  par- 
lour and  the  library.  A  brief  pause,  and  a  new  summons  brought 
us  into  the  hall.  The  curtiiin  was  raised  ;  the  Christmas  Tree  was 
there  in  all  its  glory.  The  doore  being  closed  and  the  dusk  pre- 
vailing, the  little  coloured  glass  lamps  had  been  lighted  among  the 
branches ;  and,  behind  the  tree,  peering  over  it,  raised  upon  a  scaf- 
folding, stood  a  gigantic  figure — a  venerable  man,  fit  to  be  emble- 
matic of  the  ancient  Jupiter,  Avith  a  fair,  full  iiice,  large,  mild  blue 
eyes,  features  bold  and  expressive,  yet  gentle ;  but,  instead  of  hair, 
his  head  was  covered  with  flowing  gray  moss,  and,  from  his  chin, 
streaming  down  upon  his  breast,  the  gray  moss  fell  in  voluminous 

j^  breadth  and  burden.    He  realized  the  picture  of  the  Biitish  Druid. 

"^  In  one  hand  he  bore  a  branch  of  the  mistletoe,  in  the  other  a  long 

black  wand,  with  a  silver  crook  at  the  extremity.     The  children 

^  clapped  their  hands  as  soon  as  they  saw  the  figure,  and  cried 

out, — "  Oh  !  look  at  Father  Christmas !  Father  Chiistraas !  Father 

.    '^  Christmas !"     And  they  were  right.     Our  saint  is  an  English,  not 

a  Dutch  saint,  bo  it  remembered ;  and  Father  Christmas,  or  the 

"  Lord  of  Chrystmasse,"  as  he  used  to  be  styled,  is  a  much  more 

respectable  person,  in  our  imagination,  than  the  dapper  Uttle  Man- 

.       ;,  hattan  goblin  whom  they  call  Santa  Claus. 

*  With  the  clamours  of  the  children,  the  good  father  was  fully 


-   ,*  ^ 


CHRISTMAS HOW    OOLDEN.  I5l 


awakened  to  deeds  of  benevolence.  His  crook  was  in  instant  ex- 
ercise. The  crook  with  a  gift  hanging  to  it,  was  immediately 
stretched  out  to  one  after  the  other — a  sweet  feinalo  voice  from  the 
back-ground,  naming  the  little  favourite  as  he  or  she  was  required  to 
come  forward.  When  i\\6  juveniles  were  all  endowed,  they  dis- 
appeared, to  weigh  and  value  their  possessions  ;  and  the  interest 
began  for  the  more  mature.  The  former  voice  was  silent,  and  that 
of  a  man  was  heard.  He  named  a  lady,  then  another,  and  another ; 
and  as  each  was  called  and  presented  herself  at  the  foot  of  the  tree, 
the  ancient  Druid  extended  his  crook  towards  her,  bearing  upon  it 
a  box,  a  bag,  or  bundle,  carefully  enveloping  the  gift,  her  name  be- 
ing written  upon  it.  Soon  the  voices  from  the  back  ground  alter- 
nated. Now  it  was  a  male,  now  a  female  voice,  each  calling  for 
one  or  other  of  the  opposite  sex,  until  all  the  tokens  of  love  and 
friendship  were  distributed. 

"  See,"  said  Beatrice  Mazyck  to  me, — "see  what  the  Father  has 
bestowed  upon  mo";  and  she  showed  me  a  lovely  pair  of  bracelets 
and  a  breast  pin,  in  uniform  style.  She  did  not  see,  until  I  showed 
her,  a  plain  gold  ring  at  the  bottom  of  the  box.  She  looked  at  it 
dubiously,  and  at  me  dubiously,  tried  it  on  every  finger  but  the 
one,  then  put  it  quietly  back  in  the  case,  and  had  no  more  to  say 
on  the  subjet  t  , 

But  who  played  the  venerable  Father,  and  who  played  the  sweet 
voices  1  What  matter  ?  Better  that  the  juveniles  should  suppose 
that  there  is  anr  unfamiliar  Being,  always  walking  beside  them,  in 
whoso  hands  are  fairy  gifts  and  favours,  j^  well  as  birch  and  bit- 
terness I 


^ 


m2  THX   GOLDEN   OHRIBTlfAS.  '     '^ 


CHAPTER  XVIII; 

DENOUEMENT. 


Old  Father  CLrystmasse,  in  the  South,  does  not  confiiie  hia  fa- 
vours to  the  palace.     The  wigwam  aud  the  cabin,  get  a  fair  por- 
tion of  his  smiles.     In  other  countries,  poverty  is  allowed  but  a 
single  privilege — that  of  labour.     The  right  of  one's  neighbour  to 
work,  is  that  which  no  one  questions  any  where.     In  all  countries 
but  those  in  which  slavery  exists,  poverty  is  supposed  to  enjoy  no 
other.     But  there  is  httle  or  no  poverty  Jn  the  South.     Even  the 
slave  is  rich.     He  is  rich  in  certainty — security  ; — he  is  insured 
against  cold  and  hunger, — the  two  terrible  po\vei"s,  that,  more  than 
all  others,  affright  the  civilized  world.  Secure  from  and  against  these, 
the  slave  is  absolutely  free  from  care.     Ho  has  to  work,  that  is 
true,  but  work  adapted  to  one's  capacity,  suited  to  one's  nature, 
and  not  too  heavy  for  one's  strength,  is  perhaps  the  greatest  of  all 
human  blessings,  since  it  is  the  best  security  for  good  health  and 
good  morals.     Cuftee  and  Sambo  are  thus  secure  and  thus  made 
happy.     But  Cuffee  and  Sambo,  like  other  handsomer  aud  happy 
people,  would  never  be  content  with  these  ;  and  the  good-natured, 
benevolent,  and  accommodating  Father  Chrystmasse  has  a  tree 
bearing  good  fruits  also  for  them.     When,  accordingly,  the  guests 
of  Major  Bulmcr  had  each  received   his  little  tok^n  of  Christian 
sympathy  and  good  will,  the  Christmas  cedar  was  removed  to  the 
overseer's  house,  and  that  night  the  old  Druid  officiated  behind 
its  branches  for  the  benefit  of  the  negroes.     How  they  crowded 
and  scrambled  about,  one  over  the  shoulders  of  the  other,  each 
in  his  best  garments,  for  the  favours  of  the  kindly  wizard !     There 
were,  among  the  guests  at  "  The  Barony,"  a  learned  professor  from 
one  of  the  Northern  Colleges,  and  a  young  English  gentleman,  the 
younger  son  of  a  noble  house.     They  watched  the  scene  with  a 
staring  cariosity.     It  enabled  them  quietly  to  revise  a  hundred 


DENOUEMENT.  I53 


ernng  notions  and  stupid  prejudices.  When  they  belicld  ten 
or  a  dozen  suix?rannuatod  negroes,  from  whose  feeble  and  fail  inn- 
hmbs,  sometimes  utterly  palsied,  no  labour  could  bo  obtained, 
and  who  were  yet  to  be  fed,  and  clad,  and  nursed,  and  physicked, 
until  Death  should  close  the  scene, — negroes  who  had  been  in  this 
situation  for  perhaps  a  dozen  years  ; — when  they  beheld  fifty  more 
little  urchins,  barely  able  to  toddle  about  and  be  mischievous,  who 
must  be  provided  also  with  food,  clothing  and  shelter,  for  which 
they  could  give  no  equivalent  in  labour  for  ten  or  a  dozen  years  at 
least ; — they  began  to  conceive  something  of  that  inevitable  charity 
which  characterizes  the  institution  of  Southern  slavery.  And  when 
they  saw  that  this  charity  did  not  confine  itself  to  the  mere  necessa- 
ries of  life,  but  bestowed  its  little  precious  luxunes  also ; — leaving 
no  pang  to  poverty, — leaving  no  poverty  ; — the  slave  permitted 
play  and  pleasure,  and  showing  at  every  bound  and  every  breath, 
and  every  look  and  every  word,  that  he  lived  in  his  impulses  as  well 
as  in  his  limbs, — was  permitted  to  gratify  impulses  and  yearnings, 
and  desires,  which  the  poverty  in  other  lands  is  only  permitted  to 
dream  of ; — they  began  to  shift  and  change  the  argument,  and 
gravely  to  contend  that  this  was  another  objection  to  the  institu- 
tion; that  it  left  the  negro  in  a  condition  of  too  much  content :  in 
other  words,  the  condition  was  so  agi'eeable  as  to  leave  him  satis- 
fied with  it.  But  we  will  not  discuss  the  matter  with  such  bullet- 
headed  boobies.  Enough  that  Sambo,  and  Cuflfee,  and  Sibby  and 
Dinah,  Tom  and  Toney,  are  all  making  off  with  something  under 
the  arm,  derived  from  the  bounty  of  the  benevolent  Father  Chryst- 
masse,  whom  they  half  believe  to  bo  a  real  personage — a  sort  of 
half  Deity,  half  mortal,  coming  once  a  year,  to  see  that  they  are 
and  deserve  to  bo  happy.  Leaving  them  in  groups  alx)ut  the 
grounds,  wo  prepare  for  another  display  of  fire-works,  after  which 
we  adjourn  to  the  mansion,  obedient  to  the  call  of  the  violin. 

Supposing  you,  dearly  beloved  reader  of  either  gender,  the  tender 
and  the  tough,  to  bo  in  some  degree  famihar  with  the  laws  of  art,  you 
will  BOO  that  we  have  tliis  night  left  only  for  our  denouement.    The 


154  ^      THE     QOLDBN    CHRISTMAS. 

^<&'  ' 

.  artist  is  a  creator,  and  so — a  Fate.  He  has  established  his  premi- 
ses, and  the  results  are  inevitable ;  they  bind  him  just  as  rigidly 
as  they  do  his  Dramatis  Personae.  "What  we  do,  accordingly, 
must  be  done  quickly.  The  "  Golden  Christmas  "  ends  with  this 
night,  and  our  parties  must  be  disposed  of.  Who  must  be  dis- 
posed of?  How  must  they  be  disposed  of?  Who  are  the  vic- 
tims ?  What  the  processes  ?  You,  perhaps,  can  all  of  you  an- 
swer these  questions — all  except  the  last.  And  that  is  a  question 
to  which  I  can  only  help  you  to  an  answer,  as  I  proceed,  and  in 
the  natural  progress  of  events.  You  must  not  be  surprised  at  this. 
The  artist  does  not  make  events ;  they  make  themselves.  They 
belong  to  the  characterization.  The  author  makes  the  character. 
If  this  be  made  to  act  consistently, — and  this  is  the  great  necessity 
in  all  works  of  fiction, — events  flow  fi-om  its  action  necessarily,  and 
one  naturally  evolves  another,  till  the  whole  action  is  complete. 
Here  is  the  whole  secret  of  the  novelist.  Now,  all  that  I  can  tell 
you  of  a  certainty  is  this, — that  the  action  must  be  complete  to- 
night ;  and  that  the  {)er6ons  of  the  story  may  be  expected  to  ex- 
hibit just  the  same  sort  of  conduct  which  they  have  shown  from 
the  beginning.  More  I  cannot  report.  You  must  judge  for  your- 
ielves  of  what  you  have  to  expect.  You  may  ^ ask.  Shall  the  scr 
quel  be  a  happy  one  ?  That,  of  course,  or  it  would  not  be  the 
"  Golden  Christmas."  Will  Ned  Buhner  be  allowed  to  marry 
pretty  Paula  Bonn^au  ?  Do  you  supjx)se,  with  such  characters  as 
they  have  shown,  they  will  be  happy  together  ?  And  what  of 
Dick  Cooper  and  Beatrice  Mazyck  ?  The  question  naturally  oc- 
curs, in  answer  to  this, — What  will  Tabitha  say  to  it,  the  house- 
keeper of  that  bachelor?  But,  really,  if  you  thus  go  on  making 
these  inquiries,  we  shall  never  make  an  end  of  it.  Even  now, 
Messrs.  Walker,  Richards  &  Co.,  are  crying  aloud  for  "  copy,*' 
through  the  lungs  of  forty  printing  ofl^ce  fiends.  The  readers, 
they  cry,  are  becoming  impatient.  Nothing,  but  a  marriage,  or 
some  other  catastrophe,  of  equal  magnitude,  w  ill  satisfy  them.  If 
BO—revcnons  a  nous  mouttoiisf  Let  us  see  \Nhat  our  folks  are  about 


DENOtJfiMENt.  153 


The  tea  service  over,  the  fire-works  displayed,  all  preliminaries 
at  an  end,  the  violins  in  full  tune,  the  dancers  are  preparin<r  for 
their  partners.  Ned  Bulmer,  arm  in  sling,  is  standing  in  the  floor. 
The  Major  approaches  him  with  a  whisper.  His  eyes  turn  upon 
Beatrice  Mazyck. 

"  Ned,  my  boy,  let  me  repe  it  my  wishes  once  more.  It  is  not 
too  late.  Paula  Bonneau  is  no  doubt  a  good  girl,  a  fine  girl,  a 
pretty  girl,  but  there  is  no  such  woman  in  the  parish  as  Beatrice." 

"  Father,"  answered  Ned  very  solemnly,  though  in  a  whisper 
also, — "  Your  taking  the  reins  out  of  my  hand  has  already  broken 
my  arm :  your  further  attempts  at  drinng  me  may  break  my  heart." 

"  Break  the  d — 1 !"  burst  out  from  the  old  man,  who  turned 
away  in  a  huff.     He  came  up  to  mo,  muttering, — 

"  He's  as  stubborn  as  Ben  Fisher's  mule,  that  always  reared 
going  up  hill,  and  took  the  studs  going  down  !  How  to  excuse 
myself  to  Mrs.  Mazyck  I" 

I  could  give  him  neither  advice  nor  consolation  ;  and  he  wheeled 
out  of  the  room  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  Ned,  lame  as  he  was,  was 
taking  Paula  Bonneau  out  for  the  cotillion.  I  took  out  Beatrice 
at  the  same  time.  How  we  danced,  with  what  glee,  what  perfect 
abandonment  to  the  influences  of  the  season,  must  be  left  to  con- 
jecture. Description  is  impossible.  The  happiness  was  not  con- 
fined to  the  dances.  The  elderly  folks  had  their  own  and  various 
modes  of  recreation.  Some,  of  course,  looked  on,  enjoying  the 
dancing,  just  as  much  as  if  they  themselves  had  a  foot  in  it. 
Others  were  gathered  together  in  side  rooms,  in  'he  wings,  finding 
solace  in  conversation ;  others,  apart  also,  were  engaged  in  whist ; 
and  in  the  hall,  or  grand  passage  way,  the  curtain  still  being  sus- 
pended across  it,  others  were  preparing  for  tableatue.  For  these, 
the  characters  and  scenes  were  numerous ;  and  a  couple  of  cotil- 
lions and  a  reel  being  ended,  the  little  bell  summoned  the  specta- 
tors to  the  hall,  where,  in  the  area  outside  of  the  curtain,  they 
awaited  its  rising.  I  was  among  the  actors,  and  can  say  nothing 
of  the  exhibition,  except  that  it  wais  apparently  quite  successful 


4»y 


156  tfiS   OOLDXH   CHRISTMAS.. 


^^th  the  audience.  But  it  led  to  other  scenes,  more  important  to 
the  event,  to  which  I  must  hasten.  It  happened  that,  among  the 
arrangements,  I  was  cast  tor  the  part  of  Ferdinand,  and  Beatrice 
for  Miranda,  the  scene  taken  from  "The  Tempest"  Beatrice 
looked  admirably  the  Miranda.  Her  fair  complexion,  calm,  inno- 
cent features,  the  simple  dignity  in  her  expression,  the  artless  grace 
of  her  action,  all  became*  the  presentment  wonderfully  well.  I 
flatter  myself  I  made  a  comely  Ferdinand  enough.  I  have  never 
doubted  that.  I  am  a  tolerably  good  looking  follow,  as  the  world 
goes.  Well — we  were  together  in  the  library,  which  we  had  con- 
verted into  a  sort  of  green  room.  We  were  preparing  for  the 
moment  when  we  should  be  called  to  the  stage.  Beatrice  had  just 
joined  me  from  the  ladies  'tiring  room  in  the  rear,  and,  under  the 
pretence  of  surveying  her  costume,  I  took  her  hand,  held  her  a 
little  off,  and  allowed  my  eyes  to  devour  greedily  all  her  beautiful 
proportions.  There  was  nobody  at  that  moment  in  the  room.  The 
hall  wiis  again  empty,  the  audience  having  returned  to  the  parlour 
until  the  bell  should  again  give  ihe  signal  when  the  stage  should 
be  occupied.  There  is  a  moment  in  the  career  of  a  lover,  when 
some  instinct  emotion  spurs  him  to  an  audacity,  from  which,  at 
most  other  moments,  he  would  be  very  apt  to  shrink.  The  cour- 
age of  love  wonderfully  comes  and  goes.  I  was  now  carried  away  by 
mine.  The  blood  rushed  in  a  torrent  about  my  heart.  It  mounted 
to  my  brain,  as  billows  of  the  sea  to  the  shore.  I  whispered  pas- 
sionate words ; — I  breathed  passionate  assurances  ; — rl  uttered 
vows  and  entreaties  in  the  same  breath  ;  and  the  bosom  of  Bea- 
trice heaved  beneath  her  bodice ;  and  her  eyes  rose,  large  and 
dew)',  till  they  met  the  gaze  of  mine.  She  did  not  speak,  but 
silently  hfled  the  hand  which  I  clasped,  and  I  beheld  the  ring 
which  she  had  found  in  the  Christmas  box,  securely  circling  the 
particular  finger.     Then  she  spoke,  in  a  tremulous  whisper, — 

"  Was  it  not  your's  ?" 

I  carried  the  hand  to  my  lips ;  the  next  moment  my  arm  en- 


bEKOUEMENT.  16? 


Circled  lier  waist ;  I  drew  lier  up  to  my  bosom,  and  our  lips  met  ia 
the  first  most  precious  kiss  of  love  ! 

We  forgot  the  world — heard  nothing — saw    nothing — feared 
nothing — in  that  delicious  moment  of  certain  bliss.     Little  did  we 
dream,  then,  that  any  eye  was  ujx)n  us  but  that  of  Heaven.     Yet 
so  it  was !     It  so  happened,  that  the  excellent  Madame  Agnes- 
Theresa,  looking  out  for  Paula,  who  had  temporarily  disappeared, 
came  to  the  inner  door  of  t4ie  library  from  the  'tiring  room.     Her 
light  footstep  was  unheard  upon  the  heaN-y  and  pelding  carpeting. 
Our  backs  were  to  the  door.     She  beheld  us  in  that  first,  fond,  all- 
forgetting  embrace — my  hand   about  the  waist  of  Beatrice — her 
^  lips  held  fast  beneath  the   pressure  of  mine.     Madame  Agnes- 
*    Theresa  stole  away  as  silently  as  she  came.     She  was  all  in  a 
pleasurable  glow  of  excitement.     She  had  a  spice  of  mischievous 
malice  in  her  composition,  spite  of  her  Christian  benevolence,  and 
she  amiably  resolved  to  make  somebody  uncomfortable.     For  me, 
she  had  the  best  of  feelings, — nay,  sympathies, — and  it  really  re- 
joiced her  to  see  that  I  was  successful  with  Beatrice.    But  for  Mrs. 
Mazyck  she  had  other  feelings,  equivocal  at  least,  if  not  unfriendly. 
That  good  lady  liad  a  pride  equal  to  her  own,  and  when  two  proud 
planets  encounter  in  the  same  sky,  there  is  no  telling  which  is  most 
anxious  to  put  out  the  light  of  the  other.     She  suspected  the  un- 
derstanding between  Major  Bulraer  and  Mrs.  Maz}'ck,  for  the  union 
of  their  two  houses,  and  it  did  not  greatly  displease  her  to  see 
the  scheme  defeated.     Such  being  her  temper  on  the  subject,  she 
hurried  back  to  one  of  the  side  rooms,  where  Mrs.  Mazyck  was 
engaged  in  chat  with  a  little  circle ;  but,  on  her  way,  fortunately 
for  us,  encountered  our  maiden  aunt,  good  Miss  Janet  Bulmer. 
"With  a  chuckle,  she  whispered  in  her  ears  the  discover^'  which  she 
had  made,  and  hurried  onwards.     Miss  Bulmer  immediately  con- 
jectured the  use  which  she  would  make  of  the  secret.     With  a 
more  amiable  spirit,  she  immediately  hastened  to  us,  and  found  us 
upon  the  sofa,  in  an  attitude  not  less  significant  than  that  in  which 
14 


158  THE    GOLDEN   CHRISTMAS. 


Madame  Agnes  had  beheld  us.     We  started  up  at  her  en 
trance. 

"  What  are  you  children  about?"  she  asked.  "  You  have  been 
seen  by  Mrs.  Girardin,  and  she  is  so  full  of  the  merits  of  her  dis- 
covery, that  she  will  surely  summon  all  the  world  to  see  it.  Here — 
to  the  stage — get  out  of  the  way,  if  you  would  avoid  all  sorts  of 
scandal." 

With  these  words,  she  hurried  us  through  the  private  door,  and 
upon  the  stage,  she  herself  going  out  of  the  large  door  into  the 
part  of  the  hall  in  front  of  the  curtain,  and  making  her  way  to 
the  parlour.  We  closed  the  door  behind  us.  I  then  left  Beatrice 
upon  the  stage,  and  throwing  a  cloak  over  my  gay  costume,  I 
lifted  a  corner  of  the  curtain,  and  made  for  the  parlour  also.  Our 
escape  was  complete,  and  not  made  three  minutes  too  soon.  The 
amiable  Madame  Agnes,  in  the  mean  time,  had  found  Mrs.  Ma- 
zyck.  She  was  so  enger  of  speech,  that  she  momentarily  forgot 
her  dignity.  She  stooped  over  the  table,  and  whispered  in  the 
ear  of  tlie  latter, — 

"  Come,  quickly,  if  you  would  see  a  couple  practising  in  a  ta- 
bleau which  they  will  hardly  show  us  upon  the  stage." 

Mrs.  Mazyck  was  not  unwilling  to  see  sights.  She  never  dreamed, 
however,  that  the  desire  of  her  friend  was  to  show  her  *'  the  Ele- 
phant." She  got  up  quickly,  and  hurried  oft'  with  her  conductor. 
Well ! — was  she  gratified  ?  See  how  events  shape  thems.elves 
upon  one  another.  It  so  happened,  that,  scarcely  had  we  disap- 
peared from  the  library,  than  Paula  Bonneau  entered  it,  costumed 
for  Juliet.  She  was  joined  the  next  moment  by  Ned  Buhner,  in 
the  character  of  Romeo,  his  broken  arm  being  concealed  by  the 
dark  cloak,  with  which  he  only  in  part  disguised  his  rich  attire. 
Their  love  experience  was  not  so  recent  and  fresh  as  that  of  Bea- 
trice and  myself.     They  had  no  preliminaries  to  overcome. 

"  Why,  Paula,  my  nonpareil,  you  look  a  thousand  times  love- 
lier than  ever."  And  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  she  lifted 
her  httle  mouth,  as  if  she  quite  well  knew  what  was  coming,  and — 


DENOUEMENT.  159 


Mrs.  Mazj'ck  stood  at  the  door,  with  Madame  Agnes-Thcre'^a, 
utterly  confounded,  lookinpj  over  her  shoulder  I  She  liad  come  to 
■witness  a  very  different  scene,  or  with  very  different  parties.  She  was 
dumb — done  up — dead — all  in  an  instant.  That  one  glance  show- 
ed her  all  the  world  in  confusion.  She  began  to  listen  for  the 
thunder.  She  took  for  granted  that  a  world's  humcane,  wrecking 
every  thing,  was  about  to  break  loose.  In  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  she  thought  of  all  the  conflagrations  and  disasters  that  had  ever 
threatened  and  devoured  mankind.  She  thoufrht  of  the  French 
Revolution  ;  the  explosion  of  Mount  Vesuvius;  the  massacre  of  the 
Holy  Innocents  ;  the  crusades  and  death  of  wSaint  Louis  ;  the  great 
fire  in  Charleston,  which  destroyed  St.  Philip's  Church ;  the  lato 
I  snow  storm  which  had  demolished  her  orange  trees  ;  the  burning 

of  the  Richmond  theatre;  the  killing  of  the  himdred  school-children 
in  New  York,  and  the  speeches  of  Kossuth  and  Lola  Montes.  All 
these  terrible  things  and  thoughts  rushed  through  her  braiu  in  the 
same  moment ; — all  together,  piled  up  one  ou  top  of  the  other,— ^ 
rolled  together,  one  in  the  wrappings  of  the  other — Mount  Vesu- 
vius head  over  ears  in  the  snow  storm,  and  Kossuth  and  Lola 
Montes,  somehow  busy  with  the  guillotine  and  the  Parisi- 
ans, in  the  Reign  of  Terror.  The  poor  old  lady  had  prepared  a 
terrible  surprise  for  herself,  and  was  *  hoist  with  her  own  petard.* 
*'  One  stupid  moment  motionless  she  stood,"  and,  all  the  while,  the 
lips  of  Romeo  were  doing  fearful  execution,  spite  of  her  struggles, 
upon  those  of  the  lovely  Utile  Juliet. 

You  should  have  seen  the  quiet,  sly,  expressive  glance  of  Mrs. 
Mazyck,  looking  round  and  upward  into  the  vacant  visage  of  her 
companion.  It  said  volumes.  It  did  not  need  that  she  should 
whisper — "  truly,  this  is  a  tableau,  such  as  they  never  would  have 
given  to  the  public  I"  That  glance  restored  our  venerable  grand- 
mother to  fipcech. 

The  sounds  broke  forth  in  a  sort  of  sobbing  shriek.  ■ 

"  Why,  Pauhi, — Paula  Bonneau,  I  say  1" 

Then  the  guilty  couple  started,  looking  fruitlessly  round  for  the 


160  THE   GOLDEN   CHRISTMAS. 


means  of  ^cape,  hardly  seeming  to  conjecture  wliere  the  sounds 
came  from,  and  both  utterly  dumb  with  consternation.  Never  was 
surprise,  on  all  sides,  so  complete.     Says  Mrs.  Mazyck  satirically, — 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Girardin,  was  this,  indeed,  the  tableau  which  you 
meant  me  to  see." 

The  good  grandmother  gave  her  a  savage  look,  theft  pushed  by 
her,  and  striding  into  the  room,  confronted  the  young  people. 

"  Paula  Bonneau,  can  I  believe  my  eyes." 

The  exigency  of  the  case  made  the  little  damsel  strong.  She 
lifted  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  the  old  lady :  her  voice  grew  strong ; 
hor  heart  recovered  all  its  courage. 

"  Yes,  mamma,  it  is  true,  I  love  ]\Ir.  Bulmer,  and  he  loves  me, 
and— "  ' 

"  Indeed  !  Do  I  hear  ?  Can  I  1)elieve  my  own  ears  ?  Why, 
Paula  Bonneau,  this  is  the  most  astonishing  boldness.  Fm 
ashamed  for  you !     Was  ever  heard  such  language  !" 

"It  is  plain  enough  !"  quoth  Mrs.  Mazyck,  drily,  and  she  seemed 
greatly  to  enjoy  the  consternation  of  the  grandmother.  The  lat- 
ter gave  her  another  fierce  look  and  proceeded. 

"  Oh !  mamma,  you  must  not  be  angry  !"  cried  the  dear  little 
girl,  now  attempting  to  throw  hor  arms  about  the  old  lady,  who 
resisted  the  endearment.  "  It  is  true,  mamma,  what  I  tell  you.  I 
love  Edward  more  than  any  other  person.  I  will  Jiover  marry 
any  man  but  Rlward." 

"  Heavens !  what  a  child  !  You  will  never  marry  any  other 
man  !  What  impiety — what  indelicacy !  And  you  will  force 
yourself  into  a  family  which  hates  and  despises  your  family — 
Tvhich  will  always  look  ui)on  you  as  an  intruder — " 

Here  Ned  Bulmer  found  an  opportunity  to  interfere.  His  cour- 
age returned  to  him  at  the  right  moment; 

"No,  Mrs.  Girardin,  never  !  You  do  us  wrong,  madam,  very 
great  wrong,  I  assure  you.     You  and  your  family — we  shall — 

He  was  arrested  in  his  speech.  His  father,  M'ho  had  entered 
the  room  unseen,  now  interj>osed. 


DENOUEMENT.  161 


"  It  is  proper  that  I  should  speak  now,"  said  he.     "  Mrs.  Girar- 
din,  let  me  plead  with  you  for  these  young  people.     I  have  not 
urged  or  countenanced  this  proceeding  in  any  way  ;  in  fact,  I  have 
hitherto  opposed  it ;  not  because  of  any  objection  or  dislike  to 
you  or  your  family  which,  now,  I  honestly  respect  and  honour,  but 
because  I  had  looked  in  another  quarter  for  my  son.     But,  since 
my  choice,  is  not  his,  I  owe  it  to  him,  and  to  your  daughter,  to 
do  all  I  can  to  make  them  happy.     Their  young  hearts  refuse  to 
follow  the  course  which  ours  would  prescribe  for  them ;  and,  per- 
haps, they  are  the  wiser,  and  will  bo  the  happier  for  it.   We  would 
have  perpetuated  prejudice  and  hatred  between  our  families ;  they 
will  drive  out  these  evil  spirits  with  Love.    Let  us  not  oppose  this 
better  influence.     Let  me  entreat  you  to  forego  your  frowns.  Give 
them  your  blessing,  as  here,  at  this  blessed  season;  when  all  the 
influences  of  life  are  meant  to  be  .auspicious  to  human  happiness, 
I  freely  bestow  upon  them  mine.     My  son  has  thwarted  some  of 
my  most  favourite  -wishes ;  but  shall  I  not  make  my  son  happy  if  I 
can  ?     Will  you  be  less  merciful  to  your  daughter  ?     Take  her  to 
your  arms,  my  dear  madam,  and  let  our  families,  hitherto  sepa- 
rated by  evil  influences,  be  now  united  by  blessing  ones." 

The  voice  of  Mrs  ISLazyck  sounded  immediately  in  my  ears,  for 
by  this  time  I  had  joined  the  circle  also» 

"  Mr.  CooiX!r,  will  you  be  pleased  to  order  my  carriage." 
Though   her  words  were    addressed    to  me,  they  were   loud 
enough  to  be  heard  over  the  whole  room.     Major  Bulmer  started 
and  approached  her.     She  turned  away  at  his  approach.     But  he 
was  not  a  man  to  be  baffled. 

"Nay,  nay,  Mrs.  Mazyck,"  he  said  gently,  taking  her  hand — 
"  this  must  not  be.  You  must  not  be  angry  with  me,  my  dear 
madam,  because  I  failed  to  do  what  I  wished,  and  had  believed 
myself  able  to  do.  I  have  been  disappointed — defeated  in  my 
purpose — and  I  honestly  assure  you  that  I  greatly  regret  it. — 
Though  compelled  to  yield  now  to  an  arrangement  which  seems 
U* 


\ 


102  TRB   GOLDEN  OHRIBTMAS. 


inevitable,  yet  I  do  so  wita  real  sorrow.  I  should  greatly  have 
preferred  the  arrangomont  which  would  have  given  my  ion  to 
your  daughter — " 

Another  voice  now  arrested  that  of  the  Major.  It  was  that  of 
Beatrice  Mazyck.  The  explosion  in  the  library  had  brought  her 
down  from  the  stage  where  I  had  Icfl  her,  ua  Miranda,  and  she 
had  been  a  silent  auditor  and  npt^otntor  of  the  Hoonc,  in  which  nhe 
now  found  it  necessary  to  take  part  She  touclied  the  Major  on 
his  ann,  and  said,  in  a  whisper — 

"  I  thank  you,  Major  Bulraor,  for  your  good  intentions  ;  but 
mother  and  yourself  were  gi*eatly  mistaken  in  this  matter.  Let 
me  say  to  you,  now,  and  prevent  further  mistiikes,  that  the  propo- 
sed arrangement  was  quite  impossible.  Ned  Bulmer  knew  per- 
fectly well,  lon^  ago,  that  we  were  not  made  for  each  other.  We 
have  been  friends  quite  too  long  to  suffer  any  misunderstanding 
between  us  on  any  such  subject.  So,  1  beg  you  to  relieve  your- 
self of  all  further  disquiet  in  re^fard  to  it,  and  if  you  will  suffer 
me  to  take  mamma  into  the  other  room,  I  will  soon  satisfy  her, 
that  if  there  bo  anybody  to  bliune  in  the  business,  I  am  the  per- 
son.   Mamma — " 

And  she  t(X)k  the  arm  of  the  severe  lady,  but  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  said  in  uudortonos  to  mo—'*  Don't  order  the  carriage." 
The  mother  heard  her. 

"  But,  why  nc*>  ?     I  am  about  to  go." 

"  You  canU  go,  mamma.  I  will  show  you  good  reasons  for  it." 
And  the  two  went  into  the  'tiring  room  together.  They  were 
gone  full  half  hour,  and  when  I  mot  them  again,  they  were  in  the 
parlour,  the  mother  apparently  resigned  to  her  fate.  I  saw  at  a 
moment  that  the  revelation  had  been  made.  The  maternal  eyes 
rested  on  mo  with  a  searching  expression,  full  of  meaning, — not  ex- 
actly placid,  I  confess,  but  not  severe.  The  way  was  opened  for 
me,  and  I  had  to  do  the  rest. 

Meanwhile,  the  progress  in  the  librar}%  with  the  other  parties, 
had  reached  a  similar  conclusion.     The  feud  between  the  rival 


/ 


DENOUEMENT.  163 


houses  of  Bulmer  and  Bonnonu,  was  ndjustod.  An  lio\ir  later,  in 
the  parlour,  standing  before  the  fire,  John  Bull  fashion,  the  Major 
rubbed  and  clapped  his  hands  together,  with  a.s  much  gleo  as  if 
his  projects  had  succeeded  just  as  he  had  devised  them. 

"  This,"  said  he,  "  is,  indeed,  a  Golden  Christmas.  Two  pair 
of  hearts  made  happy  to-night.  Positively,  ladies,  I  could  be 
tempted  to  look  about  mo  myself,  for  a  consoler  in  the  shape  of  a 
wife.  I  feel  quite  as  young  as  at  forty.  I  am  not  ice.  There  is 
fetill  a  warm  current  about  my  heart,  that  almost  persuades  me  to 
be  in  love.     Ah  !  if  I  could  find  somebody  to  smile  upon  me  I" 

And  he  looked,  comically  fond,  now  upon  Mrs.  Mazyck,  and 
now  upon  Madame  Agnes-Theresa.     The  former  lifled  a  proud 
head,  and  the  latter  waved  her  fan  delil>erately  between  her  face 
and  the  Major's  glances,  as  if  dreading  their  ardency.     The  latter 
was  too  wary  to  continue  the  subject.     He  changed  it  rapidly,  and, 
being  in  a  free  vein  of  speech,  he  gave  us  a  most  interesting  his- 
tor}'  of  the  settlement  of  "  The  Barony,"  by  his  great  grandfather. 
This  involved  a  full   accoimt  of  the  ancient  feuds  of  the  Bulmer 
and  Bonneau  families,  showing  how  it  was  begun,  and  how  con- 
tinued through  successive   generations.     The   episode,   had    we 
space,  should  be  given  here.     It  was  full  of  animation  and  adven- 
ture, and  gave  an  admirable  picture  of  early  life  in  the  colony. — 
The  subject  was  a  fiivourite  one  with  the  Major,  and  he  handled 
it  with  equal  skill,  spirit  and  discretion.     AVc  must  resers'e  it  for 
a  future  Christmas  Chronicle.     The  reader  may  look  for  it  some 
day  hereafter,  God  willing,  under  the  title  of  "  The  Ancient  Feud 
between  the  Houses  of  Bulmer  and  Bonneau."    They  shall  form 
our  York  and  Lancaster  histories  in  time  to  come.     Enough,  that 
we  succeeded  in  healing  the  feud  after  royal  example — blending 
our  roses,  white  and  red,  for  the  benefit  of  other  hearts  that  do 
not  know  how  to  be  happy — sho^ving  them  how  to  throw  down  the 
barriers  of  prejudice,  hate,  self-esteem  and  superstition,  by  letting 
the  heart,  under  natural  impulses,  act  according  to  its  own  nature, 
and  under  thoee  benign  laws  which  are  privilege*  rather  than  laws. 


164*^  THB   GOLDEN   OBRISTMAB. 


Well ! — what  need  of  further  delay  ? — Does  it  need  that  I  should 
say  we  went  to  supper  that  night,  after  all  our  excitements  ? — Say 
what  we  had  for  supper,  and  who  ate,  and  who,  with  hearts  too 
full  already,  had  no  appetite  for  meiuier  food  ?  And  that  the  old 
ladies  went  finally  to  bed ;  that  the  young  ones  followed  them ; 
that  the  lads  would  wind  up  the  night  with  egg-nog,  and  that 
some  did  not  go  to  bed  at  all  ?     We  may  dispense  with  all  this. 

*•  So  may  the  fates, 
The  future  fasliion,  that  it  shall  not  cheat 
Tho  true  fond  hcarta  which  welcorae  it." 


Early  in  January,  at  the  entreaties  of  Major  Bulmer  himself, 
Ned  led  Puula  Bonneau  to  tho  altar.  Wo  had  a  famous  wed- 
ding. Are  you  curious  to  know  how  fares  that  otbor  couple  with 
whoso  affaird  du  caur  I  have  somewhat  employed  your  attention? 
Ask  Tabitha,  my  present  housekeeper.  Nay,  hear  her,  what  she 
says  to  mo,  at  the  moment  I  am  writing. 
"  Look  yer,  Mjiss  Dick,  wha'  dis,  I  yor  ?" 
"What,  Tabitha?" 

"  Old  Sam  Bonneau  bin  to  do  gate  yesterday,  and  ho  say  you 
and  Miss  Be'trice  Mazyck  guino  to  get  married  in  two  mont'  from 
now.    You  no  bin  toll  me  nothing  'bout  'em." 

"  No,  Tabitha ;  but  now  that  you  have  hoard  it,  I  may  as  well 
confess  the  truth.     God  willing,  tho  thing  will  happen." 

"  Spec'  den,  Mass  Dick,  you  no  want  mo  wid  you  in  do  house- 
keeping. Don't  'tink  I  kin  'greo  wid  young  woman  that  lub  see 
heap  o'  people — and  keeps  much  comp'uy,  and  is  always  making 
fuss  ob  house  cleaning,  and  brushing  up,  and  confusions  among 
sarbants." 

"  Can't  do  without  you,  Tabby.  You  must  try  Miss  Beatrice. 
I  think  you'll  get  on  very  well  with  her." 

"  Bin  git  on  berry  well  widout  'em,"  growled  my  domestic  He- 
cate as  she  flung  herself  out  of  the  breakfiist-room. 


DENOUEMENT.  165 


Here  ends  o\ir  story.  *  Storj-,  quotha  1'  The  reader  is  half  in- 
clined to  blaze  out  at  the  presumption  which  dignifies,  with  the 
name  of  story,  a  narrative  which  has  neither  duel,  nor  robWry, 
nor  murder — neither  crime  nor  criminal.  Yet,  not  too  fast.  It  so 
happens  that  there  was  a  criminal  that  Christmas,  and  a  crime,  at 
the  *  Barony.'  and  I  may  as  well  give  the  aftair,  as  it  concerns  two 
of  the  persons  employed  in  our  chronicle.  You  rememl^er  Jehu, 
the  coachman  of  Miss  Bulmer?  lie  was  the  criminal.  The 
crime  committed  was  theft.  The  thing  stolen  was?  a  fine  fat  shoat, 
the  property  of  Zacharias,  the  gentlemanly  body  servant  of  ^fa- 
jor  Bulmer.  Zacharias  made  his  complaint  the  day  after  Christ- 
mas. Jehu  was  brought  up  for  examination  at  the  homo  of  tho 
overseer.  Zack  stated  his  cnsc  in  the  most  gentlemanly  stylo  -vnd 
language.  He  was  the  owner  of  seven  hogs.  The  shoat  stolen 
was  one  of  the  fattest.  He  had  designed  it  for  his  New  Year's 
dinner.  He  had  invited  certain  friends  to  dine  with  him  on  that 
day — Messrs.  Tom,  Tony,  Peter,  Sam,  Fergus,  (fee, — gentlemen 
of  colour,  l>elonging  to  certain  planters  of  the  neighbourhood. 
His  shoat  disa]>peared  two  days  before.  Jehu  gave  a  supper  on 
Christmas  night.  On  that  occasion  tho  stolen  shoat  was  served 
up  to  numerous  guests. 

Hero  Jehu,  shifting  his  position  so  as  to  transfer  the  weight  of 
his  body  from  his  right  to  his  left  leg,  and  throwing  his  head 
8idowa}'s  upon  his   left  shoulder,  put  in  snappishly — 

"  Ax  'em,  maussa,  ef  ho  no  eat  some  of  de  pig  he  se'f." 

The  question  was  accordingly  put^  Zacharias  admitt<?d  that,  as 
the  guest  of  Jehu  that  night,  he  had  partaken  of  his  own  pig.  He 
was  ignorant  of  that  fact.  Had  he  known  it  while  eating,  he  does 
not  know  what  might  have  been  the  consequence.  lie  might 
have  been  very  angry — he  might  have  been  taken  ill.  He  would 
liavc  felt  deeply  the  death  of  the  favourite  shoat,  cut  off  before  its 
appointed  time. 

The  case  was  fully  established.  But  Jehu  insisted  upon  his 
merits  in  making  a  frank  and  free  confession. 


-  I  mr  «iiit  Mt.    - 


# 


166  THK    GOLDEN    CHRISTMAS. 


"  I  won't  tell  you  bit  o'  lie,  maussa.  You  know,  mauasa,  I  always 
bin  tell  you,  I  can't  help  it — I  must  tief  pig.  I  nebber,  so  long 
as  1  know  dis  place,  bin  tief  noting  else  but  pig.  Maussa,  you  trua* 
me  wid  heep  o'  tings — Miss  Janet,  him  trus'  me  wid  heep  o'  tings — 
clothes,  hank'chif,  money,  silber  spoon,  ebbr}"  ting — nobody  kin  say 
Jehu  ebber  tief  so  much  as  a  copper  wort'.  But  maussa,  I  can't  help 
it — I  must  tief  pig.  Fat  pig  aint  mek  for  run  an  grunt  jis'  where  he 
please,  and  nebber  gee  anybody  brilo  and  sassago.  I  can't  le'  'em 
pass.  I  must  knock  em  ober  when  I  see  'em  so  fat  and  sassy. — 
Der's  a  someting  mek  me  do  it,  maussa.  Der's  a  somebody  dat'a 
a  saying  in  my  ear  all  de  time — '  kill  de  pig,  Jehu  !'  I  kill  'era : 
I  kill  Zach  pig — I  tell  youtrute,  maussa — da  me  kill  'em — but  wha' 
den  ?  £f  Zach  had  a  bin  say  to  me — '  Jehu,  da's  a  fat  pig  o' 
mine — I  guine  kill  'em  and  hab  supper  New  Year  night,  Jehu, 
and  you  shall  hab  taste  ob  'era,  wid  de  odcr  coloured  gentlemen 
sarbants,' — ef  he  bin  say  dat  to  me,  maussa,  I  nebber  bin  touch  he 
pig.  But  he  nebber  say  de  wud,  maussa;  ax  'em  ef  he  ebber  say  sich 
'ting  to  me." 

Zacharias  admitted  that  he  had  been  guiltless  of  the  suggested 
civiUty ;  but  he  submitted  whether  ho  was  required  to  do  so,  un- 
less he  pleased  it ;  and  whether  his  forbearance  to"  do  so,  afforded 
any  justification  to  Jehu,  for  slaughtering  his  innocent  porker  be- 
fore its  time.  The  subject  was  one  of  grave  discussion,  and  was 
closely  argued.  Jehu  particularly  insisted  upon  it,  thinking  it  e 
great  point  gained  to  establish  the  allegation.  His  next  point 
was  of  hke  character,  and  ho  urged  it  with  even  more  tenacity. 

"  Zach,"  said  he,  "  ent  I  come  to  you,  cibbil,  like  a  gentleman, 
and  ax  you  to  my  supper  ?" 

Zach  admitted  the  civility.  But,  by  the  way,  he  took  care  to 
•  insinuate  that  ho  thought  his  acceptance  a  gi*eat  condescension,  to 
which  he  was  influenced  simply  by  the  nature  of  the  season — 
Christmas  inculciiting  condescension  among  the  other  charities. — 
lie  was  by  no  nwans  an  admirer  of  Jehu — did  not  rank  him 
among  his  acquaintance — thought  his  manners  decidedly  vulgar — 


DENOUEMENT.  167 


thought  his  language  particularly  low.  But  was  himself  of  an 
indulgent  and  amiable  temper,  and.  frequently  condescended, 
through  mere  charity,  to  the  sacnfico  of  good  taste.  He  now 
avowed  his  resolution  never  to  be  caught  in  such  company  no-ain. 

Jehu  eyed  him  savagely  while  he  made  this  answer,  as  a  wild 
western  hunt<?r  would  eye  a  Broadway  dandy,  making  a  similarly 
complacent  speech,  with  the  secret  determination  to  '  take  the 
change  out  of  him,'  the  moment  he  caught  him  on  the  high  road. 

"  Ax  um,  ef  ho  no  eat  hearty  ob  do  pig,  mnussa." 

Zacharias  admitted  that  the  pig  was  well-dressed,  in  excellent 
condition,  and  his  own  appetite  was  not  amiss.  lie  was  not  trou- 
bled much  with  indigestion.  Had  on  some  occasion  suffered  from 
this  disease,  but  not  latterly. 

The  e^•^dencc  w.ts  finished.  Jehu  was  called  upon  for  his  de* 
fence.  He  made  it  with  rare  audacity.  Admitted  that  ho  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  steal  hog  meat.  It  was  a  law  of  his 
nature  that  he  should  steal  it.  Denied  that  he  ever  felt  a  dispo- 
sition to  steal  anything  else.  Thinks  that  if  Zacharias  had  given 
him  due  notice  of  his  intention  to  kill  the  shoiit  for  New  Year's 
night,  and  had  included  him  among  the  invited  guest**,  he  might 
have  withstood  the  Tempter.  Admits  that  the  right  of  property 
in  most  things  is  sacred.  Doubts,  however,  whether  there  can  be 
any  right  of  property  in  pigs.  Owns  pigs  himself.  "Would'nt 
be  hard  ujx)n  one  who  should  st^al  his  pigs ;  but,  added  slyly,  that, 
knowing  the  tempting  character  of  fat  pig,  ho  never  encouraged 
his  in  becoming  so.  It  dfd  not  need ;  there  were  always  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  fat  pigs  about  for  his  purposes.  To  conclude, 
Jehu  held  it  to  be  a  justification  of  his  offence,  that  Zach  kept  his 
pig  fat  and  did  not  kill  him — that,  when  he  resolved  to  kill,  he  be- 
trayed a  niggardly  (not  niggerly — a  negro  is  seldom  niggardly,  by 
the  way,)  unwillingness  to  give  any  portion  of  the  supper  to  him, 
the  said  Jehu  ;  and  that,  when  the  pig  was  stolen  snd  slaughtered, 
he  was  honourable  enough  to  invite  the  owner  to  partake  of  the 
feast,  which  was  not  confined  to  pig  only.  There  were  sundry  other 


iBd  TttE   OOtDSN   0HRI8TMAB. 


excellent  dislies — a  fowl,  a  flitch  of  rusty  bacon,  a  peck  of  potA* 
toes,  and  no  less  than  fourteen  loaves  of  corn  broad.  Jehu  boldly 
threw  himself  upon  the  virtue  of  his  case  and  of  the  court,  and  the 
spirit  of  justice  prevailing  in  the  land. 

They  did  not  suffice  for  his  safety.  IIo  was  found  guilty,  and 
sentenced  to  the  loss  of  three  of  his  lean  pigs  to  Zaoharias,  in 
compensation  for  his  hi  one.  The  Major  said  to  him,  however — 
"  If  you  keep  honest  till  next  Now  Year's,  Jehu,  and  kill  no  more 
fat  pigs  of  other  people,  I  will  give  you  three  out  of  my  stock." 

The  decision  did  not  seem  to  give  that  satisfaction  to  either 
party,  which  was  anticipated  from  it.  Jehu  growled  between  his 
teeth  unintelligibly,  while  Zachaiias  openly  suggested  his  fears 
that  when  he  had  fattened  the  three  hogs  thus  assigned  him,  they 
were  still  in  the  same  danger  of  being  stolen  and  eaten  in  conse- 
quence of  the  reckless  voracity  of  the  offender's  apjxitite  for  hog's 
flesh,  and  his  loose  ideas  on  the  subject  of  pig  property.  Says 
the  Major  quickly — 

"If  ho  eats  your  pigs  again,  Zach,  you  shall  eat  him." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  quoth  the  gentlemanly  Zacharias,  with  a  look 
of  sovereign  disgust,  "  but,  don't  think,  sir,  such  meat  would  set 
easy  on  my  stomach."' 

There  was  a  laugh,  and  Ked  Bulmer,  with  that  pernicious  pro- 
pensity to  punning,  which  was  perpetually  popping  into  play,  ex- 
claimed— 

"Zach  would  be  evidently  better  satisfied,  before  such  a  meal, 
that  the  meat  should  bo  well  dressed.'^  And  he  shook  his  twig 
whip  significantly  over  the  shoulders  of  the  criminal.  No  ways 
discomfitted,  Jehu,  with  a  dogged  reiteration  of  his  moral  nature, 
growled  out  as  he  retired — ■ 

"  Lick  or  kill,  jes  do  same — dis  nigger  can't  help  tief  fat  pig  in 
Bassage  time." 

THE   END.  { 


-^<: 


14  DAY  USE 

ii  RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


LOAN  DEPT. 


^i^^ 


RENEWALS  ONLY — TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


^9S^ 


%% 


OC^ll^CElVED 


QUI  :>  1  'Bfe  -It 


M!¥l 


f^OAN  DEFT 


LD  21A-38m-5,'68 
(J401slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


f«*ijt 


(^'^'JAwyA 


